Magic and Mayhem
by Aetheron
Summary: A story about Tom Riddle's diary eating an [SI] of sorts.
1. Prolog

I can whistle.

You wouldn't think that so odd, except that I currently lack tangible lungs or lips with which to do so.

And yet I can whistle just fine, because magic says so.

I look down at the professor's rapidly failing body. His breathing is starting to slow and his skin turning pale as his life force is leeched out of him, fueling my birth.

I pace a circle around his body, mostly to stave off boredom, and I whistle a merry tune I can't quite place. That's been happening a lot lately, being unable to place how, exactly, I know a thing.

Magic does not seem to think I ought to be allowed to kick things however, which is a pity. There are a lot of small skeletons down here in Salazar's old chamber that I could kick to pass the time.

It's bizarre, really, that I should be denied such a thing. Bizarre that I would even want to, but still, my foot passes through the skeletons like that of a ghost and yet the professor's wand feels solid enough in my hand.

I wonder if that has to do with it being his wand and his life force I'm consuming?

Hmmm... I'm still not sure why I chose him, not really.

I know something happened to me a few months ago. What, precisely, that something was, eludes me at the moment.

I'm a decent enough hand at occlumancy to know that something isn't quite right in my own mind. Something changed, and abruptly at that.

I remember saying good night to Ginny.

I remember pain like I haven't felt since father sheared me off and shoved me in that foul prison of a diary.

And then...

I started dreaming.

Something I hadn't done in decades. Not really. Not dreams that were my own, dreams that weren't visions of father's descent into madness.

Come to think of it, it was around then that I also started thinking of myself as an I, rather than simply as a piece of father, which I rather doubt was ever meant to happen.

Certainly seems to fit in hindsight. Father abandoned me, left me to rot in that diary for nigh on half a century. Something of an unfortunate tradition, that. His father abandoned him too. Perhaps I should avoid having children of my own?

But the dreams... The dreams were new.

They were very strange, and only rarely made much sense.

But when they did... oh did they ever.

It's something of a shock to realize that you dreamed of the future, and then have it happen.

My plan was doomed to failure, that much was certain. Thwarted by my own little brother, not that he'd known.

So I had Ginny make a gift of the Diary to her professor... if you can call him such a thing. I rather doubt he taught anything useful all year, the great prat.

Lockhart, as if sensing my thoughts, begins to convulse of the ground.

I stop my pacing and lean over him, peering down, watching the last vestiges of life leave him as my body finally starts to gain solidity.

He shudders and gasps in pain. I roll my eyes and grin. "There there Professor, It'll all be over soon. You should be happy; for once in your miserable existence you'll have accomplished something worthwhile."

And just like that, I can feel the moment when he ceased to live and I ceased to be a phantom.

Despite all the mysteries of my existence, I feel confident in two things.

I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I am not going back into that damned book!


	2. Loot All The Rooms

**Part 1 – Loot All The Rooms:**

 **-Hogwarts – Chamber of Secrets : January-**

I stretch out my newly formed limbs, and crack my newly formed neck.

For all its foibles, there are just some simple pleasures in life you really need to have a flesh and blood body to experience properly.

I shake my head. No sense in ruminating on that just now. First things first. I have a body to loot and dispose of and then a scene to set in his office.

I start stripping him down to his pants, setting his robes off to the side for once the polyjuice kicks in.

Speaking of... I fish the potion in question out of his robes.

I must remember to thank Miss Granger for being so much better a potioneer than security expert.

Pity that continued use would require fresh ingredients from a living body. Another of magic's eccentricities I suppose; requiring the use of hairs composed of dead cells, harvested from a living person.

I'll have to ask Horace why that is. I suspect it must have something to do with imprinting the person's magical signature, or whatever the equivalent would be since it works on muggles as well.

...

Damnation.

Horace retired ages ago to go into hiding. I'd have to ask Severus wouldn't I?

Bollocks. Maybe I can just wonder about it out loud near some Ravenclaws and let them sort it out? That might work, and would certainly be less annoying.

Okay.

Loot the body. Done.

Twirling the professor's wand through my fingers I turn to my ancestor's statue.

 _$$Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.$$_

The Basilisk- hmmm... my father always just thought of it as The Basilisk. That feels... odd to me now. Interesting.

I'll add 'Strong desire to name things unnecessarily' to the list of differences I appear to be experiencing.

In any case, The Basilisk slides out of the statue and looks at me.

I meet its gaze steadily and smile. Taming such a marvelous creature was truly one of Salazar's greatest gifts to his progeny.

And yet father, in his madness, would have thrown it all away. Left it to rot down here.

To be honest, I was no better as recently as a few months ago. I scratch the back of my head in embarrassment.

I'm ruminating again. A serpent nearly the size of the Hogwarts Express in front of me and I'm ruminating. I open my mouth-

It flicks out its tongue, tasting the air around me. _$$You are not Tom.$$_

 _..._

Well that's... distressing. It doesn't sound hostile about it, but still. Care to explain that one? I mean, I know I'm... different now, but I hadn't realized it was anything so dramatic that The Basilisk would sense it.

Oh. That's actually quite a bit more concerning than I even first thought. My magic must have shifted far enough that it can taste the difference in the air. Obviously not enough to remove my ancestor's gifts or I'd either be standing here sans Basilisk or already be quite dead right now, but still...

The bloody buggering fuck happened to me?

Speaking of being dead right now... I should probably also answer the giant, highly poisonous, serpent. _$$Well no, I'm not... Tom was my father.$$_

The Basilisk nods its head in a very humanlike gesture.

 _$$I see... And why have you summoned me, little hatchling.$$_

I gesture down at the professor's stripped down body. _$$I have some food to offer you, I thought you might be hungry.$$  
_  
I dare the Aurors, or even Dumbledore himself, to successfully run a sympathetic locator spell on something that's been through a Basilisk's digestive system.

 **-A Few Moments During Which I am Reminded Why I Dislike Watching The Basilisk Eat Later-**

I watch as The Basilisk vanishes back into my ancestor's statue. The moment the mouth closes I spin around and begin stress testing my magic while heading towards the passageway up to the fourth floor broom closet.

"Lumos." My wand lights up.

"Wingardium Leviosa." One of the skeletons floats up and does a figure-eight through the air on mental command.

Reaching the passageway entry, I pause to hiss at little serpent carving on the wall behind the pillar. _$$OPEN$$_

I continue systematically working my way through the Hogwarts curriculum as I climb the stairs. I even finish off most of second year before I reach the top and- Gods Damn It.

Now I remember why I don't usually use this entrance. Just as I reach the one way wall that leads into the broom closet the door of the same opens.

I lean against the wall to my side and wait for the pair of Hufflepuffs on the other side of the secret passage to finish... their... oh.

I sigh as the girl's knickers hit the floor. I suppose I could go around another way?

This passageway puts me closest to Lockhart's office and leaves me the most of my polyjuice potion's duration to ransack and pack, but I don't need to go this way.

The enchanted wall that lets me see if the closet is occupied before stepping into it is currently affording me a perfect view of the girl being bent over against it.

I resist the urge to groan in annoyance. I'm on a schedule here, people. Could you please hurry this along?

Ungh. At least she's a fairly fit bird. Makes watching her soundless enthusiasm, as she very obviously enjoys herself, far more fun to watch as her-

...

Since when have I ever given two shits about a girl being pretty?

Thinking back on it, I know I've never had any trouble noticing if a girl is attractive or not... but I honestly can't recall ever caring. At all.

And yet I feel like this ought not be surprising, like it happens all the time.

My mind feels like it was cobbled back together from spare parts and no attention was paid to making sure the joined points all lined up smoothly. It makes it very obvious that something happened to me... and yet it all feels natural, like I've always been this way.

Something definitely slipped past my mental defenses and made a bloody mess... Yet nothing feels broken, just different. By all rights I should be a drooling mess on the floor right now, not a fully functional wizard.

I would blame side effects from consuming Lockheart's life force as a bad influence... but... that can't be it. I know my abrupt shift in perspective happened before I had Ginny give him the diary. It was what drove me to do it after all.

I'm also fairly certain this nonsense didn't come from Ginny, since the girl whose knockers I can't seem to help watching bounce around right now is most certainly not Harry Potter. Even then, her interest was that of an 11 year old in a fairy tale prince charming, not... I make an hourglass gesture unnecessarily at the pair of Hufflepuffs on the other side of the passage.

Hmmm...

Even as I tilt my head to the side to get a better view, I suspect this new interest in the female form bodes poorly for both my schedule, and my ability to focus on the important things in the future.

 **-One Distressingly Fascinating Show Later-**

After the Hufflepuffs finish and leave, I skip the usual hundred count before stepping out of the broom closet polyjuiced and charmed to appear as Lockhart and head for 'my' quarters. The time I had to spend applying the positively mind boggling number of minor cosmetic charms Lockhart considered necessary to be seen outside of his room should more than cover it.

It takes me less time to walk to his quarters on the other side of the castle than it did to apply all of those dratted things.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall confirms that it is at least still Saturday Night. The Hufflepuffs' work ethic didn't push me into Sunday despite their best efforts.

I have just over 36 hours before anyone is likely to notice Lockhart is missing. Just over 36 hours to slip out of Dumbledore's myriad spheres of influence.

A carefully cast packing spell leaves Lockhart's life and presence on display while his valuables and the tools of his alleged profession get packed up into the expanded briefcase I urged him to buy.

That just leaves the one unsummonable item the puffed up buffoon owns; his vault key.

Now, unless he changed hiding places while I wasn't paying attention, that should be right over- A knock on the door interrupts my search.

The clock informs me I've been in my rooms for no more than five minutes, and that it is in fact still very nearly curfew.

I debate ignoring it, but I suppose establishing a post mortem 'last seen at' for Lockhart might be helpful.

Opening the door I find myself looking down at a young Miss Granger.

I find myself inexplicably disappointed that she does not appear to resemble a young Emma Watson. Given that I have no idea who that is, I'm not sure why I feel so strongly about it, but I do.

"I have that extra credit assignment professor."

...

What? Why would Lockha-

Oh! I remember now. Lockhart fell asleep at the wheel before your class and left me to run the show without any warning.

His 'lessons' proved surprising difficult to fake. I'm sure I probably even taught them all at least something by accident.

"Ah, excellent. Well done, Miss Granger." I'm fairly certain this isn't due until next month, but I can't summon the will to be bothered about that right now. "I'll take that," I gesture to the clock, "and you'd best run along back to the dorms or you'll be- Hmmm... You know I'm not sure you'll make it even if you run. Wait here a moment and I'll escort you back. Wouldn't want Mr. Filch getting any funny ideas about one of my brightest pupils being up to mischief."

Fetching the key and pocketing it, I silently toss a locking spell over my shoulder as we head off towards the Gryffindor tower.

"Are you going somewhere professor?"

Ah, Miss Granger, bless your nosy little heart. "Why, yes I am. A few old friends asked me to look into an odd creature sighting for them. Since they've only seen it at night, I'll likely be out searching for it until the morning. Not to worry though, I'll be back in time for classes on Monday. Now, about this essay you wrote..."

 **-One Confusing Discussion About Grims and a Truly Unpleasant Number of Stairs Later-**

Making my way up to seventh floor after dropping Miss Granger off at the tower I pace back and forth in front of the painting of Barnabas and his bizarre dancing troll fetish.

I _still_ can't remember why I assigned an extra credit essay on Grims of all things.

'Room of Lost Things'

'Room of Lost Things'

'Room of Lost Things'

The doorway appears right on cue, and... err... Damn.

It would appear the house elves felt the need to reorganize the piles sometime in the last 50 odd years.

Merlin's pants, can nothing just go to plan tonight?

I wind up moving systematically from pile to pile collecting oddball pieces of gear that look functional and cramming them into my briefcase along with the occasional knut and/or sickle.

Even still, I've finished ransacking the room and am in the midst of casting all the diagnostic charms I know on the Vanishing Cabinet when my polyjuice wears off.

I find myself staring at a face that is just... wrong.

The same kind of wrong that my mind appears to be. The kind of wrong that my magic apparently is, seemingly in spite all my spell work being no more off than one might expect from a poorly matched wand.

I stare a face I don't know.

Every individual feature is exactly how I recollect it should be... but the resultant whole is... not.

Hmmm... it's almost like- No. It's exactly like what would happen if a face was assembled the same way my mind feels.

Each individual piece is 'right' but the assembled whole makes it obviously 'wrong.'

...

The simplest explanation may simply be that I've been hit with some sort of curse that makes everything feel off? I can't say I'd put it past the Weasley Twins to come up with such a thing and use it on Lockhart. Some manner of mild paranoia hex?

I'll have to add a cleansing ritual to my to do list just in case. I'd feel quite foolish if that proved to be the case.

Finishing up my notes on just what is wrong with the vanishing cabinet I turn to my final task here in the castle.

I find I'm rather conflicted.

On the one hand, it's obviously important.

On the other hand, I don't appear to count as father any more according to The Basilisk- Hmmm... not sure that fooling The Basilisk would be something the twins could manage, particularly by what would amount to a (un)lucky accident.

I take a few more steps toward the Diadem and immediately feel it try to assault my mind, trying to force its way in via the gaps left in my defenses by... whatever happened. I'll have to see about fixing that sooner rather than later.

"Well fine then, bugger you too. You can stay here and rot if you're going to be that way, you ungrateful bastard."

Heh.

I suppose we are all literally bastards aren't we.

Except maybe Harry. Not sure how it works legally if 2 of your 3 parents are married.

Does that make him my 1/3 brother?

I pause.

Why do I even care?

That obsession with family bonds is what I used to make fun of my pureblood year mates for.

Probably not just a paranoia hex then. Damnation.

Ah well, nothing for it now.

Quaffing the second of my four doses of polyjuice potion I step back out into the castle and pace back and forth three times while thinking about a floo.

A moment later I'm on my way to Diagon Alley to continue my trail of Lockhart being seen around the country.


	3. Schrödinger

**Part 2 – Schrödinger's Peacock**

 **-London - Leaky Cauldron : Saturday Night-**

I run my to do list in my head again.

Gringotts: Withdraw as much of Lockhart's money as I can without closing his vault. Done. I'm not sure I managed to act as patronizing as Lockhart usually does when dealing with the gob- with anyone. Still, having a _friendly chat_ about how they ought not use the word buy and sell around wizards if they don't want wizards keeping the stuff when they die is as much as I'm willing to poke that particular metaphorical bear. That... erm... Whatsisface the Gobblin, already knew what leasing and renting meant makes me think Goblins may just enjoy a good rebellion every century or two. Binns would be thrilled to know he might be right.

Ministry of Magic: Buy a portkey to Muscovy. Closed until morning. Pity I can't just make my own since generating the paper trail is the whole point. Damned nuisance, that.

Leaky Cauldron: Be seen at a bar. Currently in progress. Going rather well actually if I may say so myself.

I turn to the woman that has been attempting to seduce me with all subtlety of a dragon in heat for the past few minutes.

Yeah, okay, why not? It would hardly be out of character for Lockhart.

I flash one of Lockhart's magically enhanced smiles at her before asking Tom the Barkeep for his best room for the night.

 **-Half an Hour of Intense Fun that Ends Abruptly When a Potion Wears Off, and Then a Stunning Spell Later-**

I place a few more binding spells on my companion and settle in for a night of sorting my memories out and trying to put my mind back in order.

I think the most infuriating part is that I can't explain why I have vague and incomplete recollections of what must be someone else's childhood.

They both feel like mine.

If it weren't for one set of recollections halting abruptly at the creation of my first horcrux- Hmmm... the Diadem seems to disagree with that bit.

I don't _think_ the Diadem would have tried to forcibly possess me if it still thought of me as part of itself.

And of course I no longer consider myself a part of Voldemort.

I snort.

Voldemort.

What was I, twelve?

...

Huh... Actually... I think I _was_ twelve when I came up with that ridiculous moniker.

Fine... if it weren't for my memories halting abruptly at the creation of _my ever so ridiculous father's_ first horcrux, I wouldn't know which set of memories were truly mine.

I apparently may need to make my own hor-

...

Errr- perhaps not?

From the flashes and snippets of his life I saw during my more alert and aware periods, It felt like Father was losing his grip on reality more and more with each new broth- or would it be uncle if they're all part of him and I'm not anymore..?

Probably not important. The important part is that additional testing is clearly required.

I look over at my companion's naked body and let out a contented sigh. I should also endeavor not to forget to actually _live_ my life.

I suspect that Father's greatest failing may have simply been forgetting to enjoy the little things in life as his obsession with immortality drove him to madness.

Yeah... This sense of peace must come from the other set of memories in my head.

Fuzzy as they often are, there's this implicit sense of... something..? Happiness maybe? It's completely alien to what I remember being like when I was Father.

I can't recall him ever being truly... happy? But the feeling colors this new side of my recollections heavily. Even unable to explain it properly, I find I rather enjoy the changes it has wrought in me.

I yawn.

...

I suppose it is well after midnight, may as well get some rest.

 **-?-**

I'm standing in a graveyard with a sword.

I'm hunting a woman holding a knife. Her face is _hideously_ deformed.

Mocking laughter echoes through the night as-

"It's more of a cackle really." A strange voice corrects me from behind.

I separate the woman's head from her body when she trips and she... collapses to ashes?

I'm... confused. What is-

 **-London - Leaky Cauldron : Early Sunday Morning-**

I wake up abruptly as my companion begins to struggle silently against her bindings.

The clock says its 8 AM.

...

Close enough.

Shaking my bizarrely realistic dreams out of my head, I re-stun and re-silence my companion and get dressed.

Drinking my third polyjuice potion, I step outside and redo the various locking charms on my room.

Check out time isn't for another 4 hours, but I'd rather not deal with housekeeping finding anything amiss before I'm ready.

...

Gods Damn It.

I lean my forehead against the door and lament that I can't kill Lockhart a second time as I start his seemingly endless list of cosmetic charms.

Merlin's beard, the man was a sodding peacock.

Still, it does make my work here rather hard to miss.

 _Finally_ ready to greet the public I take a floo to the Ministry of Magic and head to the travel department to get my bloody portkey.

I should probably make that a portkey for two now.

 **-Two Counts of Bribing a Public Official, and a Great Many Autographs Later-**

Walking out of the muggle phone booth exit, I duck into an alleyway to let my potion wear off and transfigure my clothes into something less conspicuous.

...

To be fair, I could walk around naked save for a neon sign over my head and be less conspicuous than I am in Lockhart's robes.

Transformation complete I put my cap-

...

Cap?

Why did I make a baseball cap? And a dark blue one with a red B on it no less.

I have this vague impression that this means... something to me. Or rather should...

Ah well.

I chalk it up to yet another reminder that intent based magic is never a good idea while distracted. On goes the cap, and I'm off to hunt down a muggle that at least vaguely approximates Lockhart.

 **-Another Stupefy Spell and a Human to Inanimate Transfiguration Later-**

I layer a few basic glamours onto my face to swap out my features enough to make myself unrecognizable and head back into the Leaky Cauldron.

Once safely back inside the room rented out to Lockhart and my locking spell regimen is completed I dig the toy soldier out of my pocket and turn it back into my new pet muggle. Promptly stunning and binding him next to my companion from last night.

Taking out 'my' portkey I set to work damaging it _just_ enough that it'll still trigger, but go horribly, horribly, wrong.

I should really knuckle down and learn how to make one of these from scratch myself some day. Not _today_ , obviously, but some day. I'll have to keep careful notes on how this one was spelled.

It takes me a solid half an hour of delicate labor before I'm confident that I have the arithmancy written down right and another before I find the stability bits.

After that, making sure that Lockhart and his 'love slave' arrive in the Russian Ministry in pieces is a cinch.

...

Oh! That reminds me. " _Ennervate. Imperio._ " Crushing her will under my own, I dismiss the ropes binding her and send her to the bathroom to shower herself clean of any physical evidence.

Once she's finished and dressed, I trade clothes with my new pet muggle and force feed him the last dose of polyjuice.

Of course, no disguise would be complete without his wand, and so I bid farewell to Lockhart's wand five minutes later when the timer on the portkey ticks down and my temporary companions vanish.

...

I wonder how long it actually takes them to travel the 2 or 3 thousand klicks to Moscow.

I'll have to add testing the actual speed of portkey travel to my 'to do' list.

But not now. Right now I have a plane to catch.

Grabbing Miss... huh... I never did learn her name's wand, I set out towards the airport.

 **-Flight 213 – Somewhere Over the Atlantic : Sunday Afternoon-**

I appear to have had a surprising number of erroneous preconceptions about muggle airports considering I've never made use of one before.

I suppose it was better to show up massively over prepared than the alternative. But... still, I can't shake a vague sense of disappointment that I barely needed to even _confundus_ anyone to snag a first class window seat on the first plane out of Heathrow.

All the more impressive since I hadn't even picked a destination until an American tourist informed me, via a rather confusing attempt at a 'high-five,' that I was wearing a Boston Red Sox cap.

Looking down at the clouds over the Atlantic ocean, I wonder briefly if having 'Lockhart' buy that somewhat expensive portkey to Moscow was entirely necessary.

Probably. I really can't be too careful when dealing with Dumbledore. Pity the meddlesome old goat is so obnoxiously competent.

Or perhaps not.

I suppose if Father had won the war handily then I'd still be trapped in that sodding book.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" A flight attendant asks me.

"I'll take one of the orange juices. Thank you."

Six more hours until we land.

I take out a notebook and begin compiling a list of everything I can recall from my glimpses of father's war, my new memories, Ginny and Lockhart's rambling nonsense, everything.

...

Gods Damn It. _That's_ what I forgot.

I should have stolen Dumbledore's pensieve. The look on the meddlesome bugger's face alone...

 **-A Week's Wandering and Exploration of the Greater Boston Area Later-**

With a few glaring exceptions, the Boston I seem to recollect is surprisingly accurate in the few details I can recall.

Those exceptions, taken all together, seem to paint a very... _interesting_ picture.

I rather suspect I may have eaten a muggle time traveler. It would have to have been a muggle since I can't recall ever learning or doing magic anywhere but Britain. The idea of muggles having the ability to warp time is rather horrifying, and a time travelling muggle that knew _of_ the wizarding world, but was not a part of it... perhaps a muggleborn attempted to send their parent into the past? I don't recollect having any children, but given the still rather patchwork nature of my memories at the moment perhaps they..?

Oh, who knows.

I sigh.

It's the best explanation I've come up with yet as I stare at the sign indicating Massachusetts' first ever Starbucks will soon be opening in the storefront in front of me.

Soon appears to be a rather subjective term here in the colonies, but I digress and try to take some small solace in the fact that I appear to have been right.

A Starbucks _is_ some manner of cafe or tea shop. Excepting that they serve that hideous abomination the colonials are all so obsessed with instead of a proper cup of Earl Grey.

Though, staring at the logo I'm finding myself recollecting some sort of ice-cream-like drink the muggle time traveler was apparently fond of... that might not be too terrible.

Shrugging, I duck into an alleyway and apparate back to my hotel room.

The best answer I have just begs more questions. A great many of them in fact. Most of them pertaining to how and why.

The most concerning of course is why me? Why did they wind up sharing headspace with me?

I flop down onto the hotel room bed.

Does it matter?

I suppose those memories will either come back to me or they won't.

What clearly _is_ important is the war that will soon be brewing back home in Britain and how best to take advantage.

The Daily Prophet, delayed a whole 3 days by the Atlantic ocean mucking with the Post owls, reports that Lockhart has gone missing.

Whether that's the ministry covering up the part where a ministry issued port key scattered him across the Muscovy landing pad, or if I over did it and produced a fine pink mist instead of something the Aurors can sort out, remains to be seen.

I can't imagine that Lockhart not being around, to not teach the nothing, that he wouldn't have taught them, will impact the students overly much.

Tossing the paper aside, I ponder my next move.

I should probably set to work finding a more suitable permanent address than a random hotel. Maybe that empty stretch of woods I seem to recollect being up in Vermont?


	4. Making Camp

**Part 3 – Making Camp:**

 **-Partially Finished Cabin in Vermont : Early February-**

"This is all your fault. I've just decided."

I glare down at the insolent cup.

The cup, being a perfectly normal, non-magical, tea cup, offers no words in its own defense. I vanish it angrily along with the very carefully brewed contents.

It would appear that I can no longer enjoy a good cup of Earl Grey.

Once could just be happenstance. Attempting to acquire proper tea from a colonial cafe was perhaps always doomed to failure. I had thought owl ordering a batch from home would be the answer.

Twice is coincidence. Perhaps I made a mistake brewing that first cup. Potions was never my best subject, not that Horace would ever believe such a thing.

But... Three times? Three times is enemy action. The Blasted Muggle in my head did this to me on purpose, I'm quite certain of it. It would appear that I am condemned to subjecting myself to his plebian tastes in beverage.

Thoroughly disgusted with this turn of events I do what any sensible Brit would do and throw myself back into my work. I'm only a few more trees away from done after all.

I begin hacking the notches into the next log for the cabin before I can transfigure it into another grooved 8x8 and start layering the color changing, durability, and impervious charms onto it.

I also blame The Blasted Muggle for the fact that I appear to be enjoying such tedious labor.

Not surprising really, when you consider the number of vague memories I have of a childhood spent building tree forts. Colonials are so strange.

...

Perhaps I should endeavor to break that habitual manner of reference. If I'm going to masquerade as an American muggleborn I can hardly continue referring to them as colonials.

Pity that the only accent of theirs that I appear to be able to properly emulate is that utterly ghastly Bostonian. Being able to ask, "How are you?" without using an R sound is hardly an accomplishment to be proud of. Alas, when in Rome...

 **-Recently Finished Cabin in Vermont : Mid February-**

Refreshing my warming charm, I take a step back and admire my work.

I suppose I ought to admit, if only to myself, that The Blasted Muggle's memories of mundane nonsense proved quite useful on this project.

A shallow A-frame style tongue and groove log cabin proved quite easy to assemble with magic to help cut, shape, and even adhere the logs. I'm quite proud of the fact that even if some nosy auror hits the thing with an un-transfiguration spell the logs will merely revert to a horrendous mishmash of wood types and colors with perhaps at worst the odd bit of warping where my cutting charms bisected a knot in a few places. And even then, only one log at a time, rather than all at once.

Pacing the perimeter established by my muggle repelling charms I can definitely make out that there's something there though, which... is mostly the snows fault really. A giant gap in the snow bank the color of finished wood is bound to stand out.

Easy enough to fix, levitating a blob of snow up over the roof and violently shaking it to tiny pieces before letting it fall.

Another lap around confirms that any wandering muggles will wind up rushing away to deal with that thing they forgot long before recognizing that there's anything here. I'll have to transplant dirt and a variety of shrubbery onto the cabin roof and surrounding bits in the spring and then it will look like any other small hill.

Eurgh. Herbology...

But now I can check out of that muggle hotel.

Heading inside I toss another bit of spare wood into the fire and flop down into my transfigured arm chair.

It's a reasonably good approximation of the chairs found in the Slytherin common room, albeit without the enchanted snake motif.

...

Damn.

I never did sort out how someone managed to make those snakes actually speak parseltongue, and if Father ever did then it wasn't considered exciting enough of an accomplishment to share with me.

Eh. I suppose that if I had to choose an accomplishment to bear witness to, I'd have chosen self powered flight over a talking chair too.

Pity that I'm still having trouble duplicating the effect, even knowing what Father was thinking at the time I seem to be missing a key component. Still, simply knowing that it's possible gives me a big leg up on rediscovering it.

 **\- Cabin in Vermont : Late February-**

Well, that was frustrating... Not that such a thing is surprising from muggle bureaucrats.

I hang up the muggle prepaid cell phone.

I traced that one squib that I remembered reading about having survived the Gaunt Family's... policy... on such things. It seems that he survived, had kids, and then... I seem to have hit a dead end when their granddaughter emigrated to muggle France just prior the Great War after which any further records are "lost."

As tempting as it is to start cursing which ever band of moronic soldiers accidentally set fire to the records office, I suppose that if I can't follow that bloodline any further, it may be that no one else can either.

War brides were not uncommon amongst muggle soldiers in that time period after all. Perhaps that might work...

Apparating back to my cabin I power the phone off and toss it on the table.

For all the hassle involved in using it, not the least of which is needing to apparate to the nearest cell tower since the network The Blasted Muggle remembers doesn't exist properly yet... It's an interesting little device.

Not unlike a combination of the Floo Network and Wizarding Wireless. Pity that many of the more useful bits are still a decade or more away and not worth the time to produce for myself.

Besides, the significantly better than expected battery life is far more useful to me given that I lack the facilities to charge it here at home.

Bah! I'm getting distracted. I grab my pen and circle Elizabeth Stevenson where I've appended it to the official tree. I add a notation indicating that she's MIA.

I don't know if Parseltongue would survive that many squibs and muggles marrying, but I can't say for sure that it wouldn't, which is more important to the narrative I'm constructing for myself anyway.

Which brings me back to the Evans family tree, such as it is given how incomplete it current stands at just Lily, Petunia, and some unnamed parents.

If I'm going to pretend to be searching for family based on my ability to talk to snakes, I should probably build a record of looking into Harry given the articles in the Daily Prophet mentioning his possession of the talent. Given Dumbledore's obvious interest in him I'll need to do it carefully and strictly from the muggle side of things, but that ought to work out just fine.

It _obviously_ didn't come from the Potter side of the family, so it _must_ be from Lily's. I wonder if someone on her family tree will conveniently appear out of nowhere some number of generations back?

I stare at the article that posits that very theory tacked to my wall. I can't... disprove... that notion based on anything I know for _certain_. The idea that this makes Lily some kind of dark witch that bested Father by secretly being even more terribly evil is laughable at best, but the core theory is at least plausible for all the public knows.

The Blasted Muggle somehow recollects a report on Dumbledore telling Harry it came from the bit of Father living in his scar. An autobiography or _memoir_ maybe? Even in that though, there was no indication this was proved true beyond the meddlesome goat saying it. Albus is brilliant, not infallible, and rather overly fond of the expression 'the truth is a beautiful and terrible thing.'

If nothing else it'll further muddy the waters if I find a possible link back to Salazar in her family history.

 **-Cabin in Vermont : Early March-**

I slump forward in my chair, resting my forehead against the seventh year transfiguration textbook.

Charms and Defense, or even Arithmancy, were always so much easier, advanced Transfiguration is just so much bloody _work_. Wonderfully useful once you figure it out, but-

I sigh. I think... I'm... bored? Frustrated? Annoyed? All of the above?

Learning how to reverse a transfiguration without knowing what it was supposed to be originally is a pain in the arse when you don't have anyone else to transfigure practice materials. I'm rather proud of my solution of transfiguring a variety of objects into muggle dice and then picking them out of a bag randomly, but I still know what all the options are.

Ungh. Whatever else Albus was, he was an excellent Transfigurations Professor.

Closing the book and setting it aside, I stand up and stretch. I feel the need to do... something...

Looking over at my to do list, I have:

 _A/N - I would like to take this opportunity to express once more, my frustrated disbelief at FFN's lack of formatting options. Pretend underlined means crossed off._

Muggle Repelling Wards  
Cabin Construction  
Fire Supression Wards  
Plumbing Runework  
Animal Repelling Wards : I still can't believe that squirrels are more difficult to banish than muggles. Okay, that's a lie.  
Figure out how Voldemort could fly without a broom : Partial success. I can hover a few inches off the ground for a bit before feeling exhausted.  
Gaunt family tree : Inconclusive, but done.  
Figure out how to fix plumbing so shower conjures HOT water : Gods, that first couple of mornings fucking sucked.  
Evans family tree : Well, it's, "done," in the sense that common muggles are fucking terrible at record keeping so anything is theoretically possible. I could do more poking around but there seems to be little point.  
Find a Missing person matching my description : ...I could... but no, I don't feel like doing that any bit more than I do studying.  
Find a Starbucks within apparition range : Failed due to an Existential Error.

Meh.

...

I just don't feel like doing... anything really. I probably should have noticed something was wrong when I didn't feel like trying to fly.

I suppose I could just take an early lunch and try again.

Decision made, I apparate over to the edge of the nearby town and make my way towards the local diner.

I blame The Blasted Muggle for my bizarre interest in diner food, but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

Grabbing my usual seat- My shoulders slump at the idea of _having_ a usual seat in a- oh, whatever. I like the food, and the service is good looking too.

"Something wrong, Tom? I haven't seen you in here for a little bit." I hear Amanda ask, as if summoned by my thoughts.

I look up at the slightly older girl. "Just a busy week." I blink at her. I can't recall ever coming in and having her not be here. "Don't you ever have a day off?"

"Of course I do." She doesn't elaborate. Just grins at me while handing over a menu. I roll my eyes at her, but I'm already feeling a bit better.

...

Oh. Gods Damn It.

The Blasted Muggle gave me a need for human social interaction. Of all the useless...

I take a deep breath. I can just come in for lunch more often.

 **\- Cabin in Vermont : Second Weekend in March-**

I'm flying through the air on a broom.

Ahead of me is a small golden ball with wings beating like a hummingbird's. A golden snitch.

It darts left, trying to shake me, but I cut into its turn and gain another foot on it.

... my vision is oddly blurry around the edges. Strange.

Over the sound of the air rushing past me, I can hear a voice begin announcing my every move excitedly and I slowly and inexorably gain on the snitch.

As my hand reaches out to grab it, my broom is knocked sideways, I glance over and see a small boy in Slytherin quidditch robes. Blonde hair flying every which way, he smirks at me briefly and then we're both back searching for the now vanished snitch.

 _Malfoy,_ I think to myself angrily. I hate him. I feel confused by my sudden urge to hex-

...

I groan as I roll over in my no longer sleep. I should probably get up anyway.

Sitting up, I'm still grumbling about having another one of those bizarre dreams that make no sense and give me a mild headache. This time I was apparently Harry Potter-

Err... wait.

The... whatever it was the muggle read talked about Harry having those kinds of dreams about Father after the ritual in the graveyard.

Okay, so it seems I'm part of that same mental bond and getting dreams from-

...

Well that can't be good. Is there another one of us running around with a sword somewhere?

Investigating that goes on the to do list.

I'll have to wait for more details to filter in, not to mention put a ton more effort into shoring up my occlumency.


	5. Not Quite Settling In

A/N - So this has been typed up since before Rowling named the school Ilvermorny. So at this point it's probably worth specifying something:

If you get upset by things not matching something that JK added after the fact, then I'm sorry that you feel that way and won't be upset if you stop reading here. If I contradict the books, call me out on it. But I'll be treating everything else on Pottermore to be... optionally canon. (Much like my Blood and Chaos story treats the Buffy comics.)

 **Part 4 – Not Quite Settling In:**

 **-Cabin in Vermont : Early April-**

I spread my next folder full of missing persons born in 1975-1977 out on my desk and begin sorting through them.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but there is a truly staggering number of missing persons files when your search pool is all of America and Great Britain and a three year spread on date of birth.

And somehow, almost none of them look at all like me, or if they do; some other detail is wrong.

Thousands of case files and I only have three possib-

Maybe four possibilities...

I take the file for a young boy of my age and general feature set who has been missing since he was six and bring it over to the wall where I have 'Roy' Lockhart's career timelined out.

Okay, so he went missing in April 3rd of 1982... during which time Roy was... not doing anything in particular, and it was _after_ he started with the Ministry Obliviators so... this looks promising.

I use a sticking charm to attach the file to the appropriate place on the timeline and then color changing charm a large question mark onto it.

I'll have to add the name to the list of genealogies I'm researching.

Pity none of them are adopted, that would make faking the appropriate links much easier.

I look back at the stack of files.

None of them are adopted... _so far_.

 **-Salem "Magical District" : Late April-**

Every time I come through here to pick up the past week's newspapers from Britain I'm reminded anew how strange it feels to have a muggle's recollection of wandering through America's version of Godric's Hollow. Given the presence of the nearby Witches Academy, I'd almost say Hogsmeade but that would imply some semblance of segregation, which seems to be intentionally lacking here.

The muggles I was walking along with continue on as I turn down an alleyway that in my memories of this place was a plain brick wall remarkable only in how uninteresting it was. I can only assume that they see that same brick wall still in place.

If I were to venture a guess, I would say that the Americans appear to have opted for a rather liberal usage of the modified muggle repelling charms and illusion magic that keeps Hogwarts from being visited by tourists. Combined with some fairly extensive spatial manipulation they've managed to produce a couple city blocks where a variety of magical and 'mundane' shops can be all mixed together with the muggles none the wiser. Perhaps a mild confundus effect was placed on the area to keep them from noticing things like my walking through the... ahem, "wall?" I shake my head as I realize I just made air quotes while thinking to myself.

But... I mean... hiding in plain sight doesn't even _begin_ to cover it. The lengths to which people will go to dismiss magic, even if it's right in front of their noses, is truly astonishing. Indeed the shop I'm walking past seems to cater to both wizard and muggle alike, and I find myself idly curious just what it is that muggle in there thinks she sees when she looks at the back half of the shop.

I suppose the number of muggles wandering around in garb that looks like a mockery of fashions that went out of style centuries-

Wait, the fuck..? Was that..?

Spinning back around and returning to the store front window I just passed by, I look in again. Yes. That _is_ Amanda in there.

Huh... well now I have to investigate.

Walking into what seems to be done up to look like a used bookshop, I make my way over towards Amanda who's milling about near the last shelf before the magical texts. "Amanda?"

Startled, Amanda spins around and stares at me. "Tom!? What are you doing here?"

...

I think that was supposed to be my line. I shrug. "Well... I actually just came in to ask you that very same question after spotting you through the window." I glance around at the books on the shelves and raise my eyebrow as I pick one up off the shelf. "Normally, I'd try and make this less awkward by commenting on one of the books, but I suspect any thoughts I might have to share about a time travelling Viking Navy Seal who feels compelled to go around saving the damsel in distress while shirtless would be unlikely to-"

A younger girl in a Salem Witches Academy uniform, the school crest easily visible on her blouse, rushes up to Amanda. "I found it!" She holds up a somewhat tattered copy of what looks like a third year potions text.

Amanda's eyebrows attempt to vacate her face as she turns to look at the girl with what I assume is meant to be a quelling expression. The girl, who seems to bear more than a faint family resemblance just looks at her confusedly until she spots me looking from her to Amanda and back again. I smile at her and nod my head in greeting. "I don't suppose that this is the little sister the other regulars at the diner mentioned goes to boarding school?"

"Oh, umm... Yes." Amanda gives the girl another look before turning back to me. "This is Kelly. She loves the new age nonsense stuff they have here, and I promised to take her for her birthday." She smiles at me nervously.

New age nonsense? Oh, right. I'm playing the part of a muggle... "Ah. I see." Regrettably, I have no idea what the colonial wizarding types refer to muggles as these days. Muggle being a universal term would be far too easy. "Well, in that case, happy birthday, Kelly." I can't recall ever caring about such things as birthdays before and yet... "Have you two eaten already?"

 **-Cabin in Vermont: Late April-**

My bro- uncle- err- The other activated horcrux? Whatever he is, he apparently decided that tonight would be a lovely time to have an all out brawl. Never mind that I was trying to sleep before his anger forced its way into my dream about... I can't even remember now. Inconsiderate wanker.

No sense letting the insights go to waste though. Rolling out of bed with a groan I grab a notebook and self inking quill.

Let's see... what do I remember about the world around him..?

He lives with two girls. One of whom has an uncanny resemblance to a young Eliza Dushku and... seems to have quite the temper.

I have no idea what she was so angry about, but perhaps most telling was the other girl's reaction, or rather lack thereof, indicating that flying into a rage is not unusual for the girl... unless... I suppose an active Imperius Curse might produce a similar lack of response. Hard to say.

The angry girl talks like she's from Boston, but she seems to be the only one and I can't place the other accents.

Judging by the sun, it was either very early morning or very late evening there... which... I don't think can be right actually. As I understand it, these shared experiences happen concurrently, which-

Unless they're in Australia, maybe? I'll have to look up what the time difference is the next time I'm in town. Would expect Australians to have a more noticeable accent though.

But going back to the other one himself... The body he's inhabiting is obviously not a base model human and seemed incredibly durable, given how easily it shrugged off both stab wounds and blunt trauma. Breathing felt like it was merely reflexive, not something that was necessary too, which is just...

I recall looking into augmentation rituals, but never had nearly as much luck with them as Father must have had in the future in order to be able to manage that. Pity that it doesn't seem to have been an achievement worth broadcasting over our bond, as the implications and applications are simply staggering. Especially if achieving immortality via horcruxes is as flawed as I'm beginning to suspect.

I'm going to need to sort just out what it was that woke us up and make sure the others don't do the same. Dealing with Father alone was daunting enough with him still stuck as a wraith, having to compete with another me that has who knows how many years head start?

It appears to involve some manner of merger process, the exact mechanics of which are still unclear.

Fortunately nothing I've seen indicates any of them have any awareness of my own existence. In fact, neither of them even appear to the aware of what they are.

A problem for tomorrow. Yawning, I put the notebook back on the nightstand and...

...and... apparently I'm flying on a bloody broom again...

Considering that this whole dreaming about the other's life is supposed to be induced by strong emotions I wonder if it says something about Harry that all he ever shares is flying.

It's not even a game this time, just a sodding practice.

Well, let's see... the castle is still in one piece.

And there's Miss Granger and Mister Weasley sitting in the stands. The hair is a dead giveaway on both counts.

...

And I'm awake.

My boredom must have tamped down on his enthusiasm enough to free me.

Huzzah! Maybe now I can get some bloody sleep.

 **-Vermont Woods : Early May-**

Apparate. _Protego_. Three.

Apparate. _Protego_. Four.

Apparate. _Pro-_. Ow! Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. That hurts. Kind of the point but still.

I continue muttering angrily as I counter my own bloody stinging hex that just nailed me in the shoulder.

Pausing to take a drink of water, I wait for the pain to fade a bit before starting again.

Casting a new stinging hex across the little clearing, I apparate out in front of it and bounce it off a _Protego_. One.

Apparate. _Prot_ \- GodsDamn It! Ow! Why did I think this would be a good idea again? I blame The Blasted Muggle.

I suppose it's not wrong per se either. I mean... as annoying as it is, I am _slowly_ getting better about that disorientation period that follows apparition.

I just can't shake the sense that this feels like something a muggle would come up with.

 **-Woods in Vermont : End of May-**

Having apparated home from the diner, I'm crunching through the snow back towards my cabin when I spot a house cat sitting on the smoothed down stump that serves as my table when I'm outside.

My first thought is that the latest storm must have somehow put a hole in my wards. Makes sense that a cat would try and snag that spot given the warming charm on the table area.

Only... it would really take a direct lightning strike to mess with the magic and, as I wander around checking, none of the trees in the area look like they suffered that fate.

My second thought is that the cat has been watching me check the trees.

Odd pattern on the cat's face almost looks like-

Ah.

Good morning, Minerva. What the buggering fuck are you doing here?

Squelching the urge to apparate away and never return I continue my lap of the cabin, waiting until the cabin blocks her sight of me to snap out my wand and try to think of every detection spell I can manage silently.

She appears to be alone, a nonverbal _Homenum Revelio_ indicating only one human presence.

Or does that mean the old goat is standing next to her under a disillusionment charm and McGonagall doesn't count as a human while in animagus form?

Bugger it.

 _Point me: Minerva McGonagall_. Points towards my table.

 _Point me: Albus Dumbledore_. Nothing. Not that that really means anything since I'm sure he can manage to hide from such things as well as he can sight. Given that even your most basic ward lines often interfere with them, I doubt he'd even need to make much of an effort to do it.

Hmmm... If Albus were here... I snort, if he's here, he's probably sitting in my chair smiling serenely and trying to look wise even while invisible.

Note to self; Find a suitable curse for exterior chairs.

Wand in hand but behind my back, I circle back around to-

...Find Minerva sitting in one of the chairs, no longer in cat form, apparently. Her wand isn't out, and she doesn't look hostile so much as curious. Odd.

Slapping on my best idiot muggle smile and, keeping my wand out of sight, give Minerva a curious look. "Can I help you?"

"Perhaps. I'm looking for a young boy named Tom Winters."

...

The hell?


	6. Man Plans, Hogwarts Laughs

**Part 5 – Man Plans, The Gods Laugh:**

 **-Cabin in Vermont : Late May-**

I realize that I've just been staring dumbly at Minerva for just long enough for it to be awkward and force myself back into motion, flashing her a puzzled look.

"That's... err..." Despite having almost forgotten that I shouldn't know the woman, I feel no need to fake my mounting confusion as I begin. Working with a woman for a few months will do that to a bloke. I put the feeling to use as I act the part of an innocent bystander. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm here on behalf of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She holds out what is unmistakably a Hogwarts letter.

"Isn't that over in Britain?" I take the letter. It's addressed to one Tom Winters, Cabin in Vermont. I frown. That's... both oddly imprecise for Hogwarts post, and exactly how I think of the place. "What do you want with me?"

"...You? Not a younger sibling?" She seems almost as confused as I am, which I think is a plus. People acting like they know more than I do is quite annoying. Always reminds me of Albus and his annoying meddling.

I shrug. "Well... I am Tom... and I'm the only Tom here..."

Again, my confused and distracted routine is only half faked as I continue to stare at the envelope.

...Winters? Who the fuck is Winters?

Minerva sighs. "I'm afraid there's been something of a mix up. You see, your name appeared in our book of students sometime this year." Well... damn. If I'm in the book of students, and living in a cabin obviously made with magic, then pretending to be a muggle is just as obviously right out.

Hmmm... while Winters isn't a name that came up in my searching, I'm hardly going to dismiss a valid identity being handed to me after 4 months of fruitless searching to find a proper match. But... that isn't even a name that came up in my searching the Gaunt... The muggle. It must have been The Blasted Muggle. I never could recall his name. Must have been something Winters.

So... A new identity created by merging the muggle with Father. Apparently an identity backed up by the magic of Hogwarts no less. Convenient. Suspiciously convenient come to think of it. I frown, and look back up at Minerva.

"My name appeared... erm... that's... kind of creepy..? Doesn't really explain your visit either." Well, I suppose it sort of does, but I also suspect I shouldn't know that. I try to maintain a suspicious tone to my voice despite the pieces clicking into place in my mind. Perhaps I'm not the only one who counts that night in Salazar's chamber as a birth of sorts.

Which means that I have two fathers- Heh... given whose last name I apparently wound up taking, I suppose that would make Voldemort my mother instead of my father. I... think I'll go with that if only because of how much it will annoy the bastard if he ever finds out.

"I do apologize, it's just that I was expecting someone younger, or that this would all wind up being one of Albus's elaborate pranks." Fortunately I lose my battle with grinning over the idea of Voldemort finding himself listed as someone's _mother_ until she finishes that statement and can feign it being at the idea of this being a prank.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't really follow... and come to think of it, you expecting me to be younger _really_ isn't helping with the whole creepy vibe thing you have going on lady." I click my tongue at the idea. Admittedly, my statement is only partially true. She clearly expected me to be a new student... Which would make me 11. I'm not sure what else that could tell me... unless maybe that it also means I'm listed as unsorted going into next year? Does it even work that way? I mean...I apparently really am not my father- nope, he is now _mother_ , if only to annoy him- anymore if even the castle thinks of me as a new person.

...

Okay, change of plans, this could be fun. If Hogwarts herself wishes to dispatch me an invite, it'd be rather rude to decline after all.

...I wonder if this is how Albus feels all the time, knowing just a tiny bit more than the other person and faking the rest? Would explain why I always found him so... obnoxious. I hold my hand up to stop her when she starts to say something, can't let her spoil my narrative by saying anything contradictory. "But... considering that you've solved one of my life's greatest mysteries, why don't you come in, have a cup of coffee and explain what happened." Minerva grimaces slightly at the mention of coffee, but I manage not to smirk at her over it. Misery loves company.

I am not able to manage duplicating that feat of willpower as I step into my cabin and look around. It's perfect. Purely by accident, but perfect nonetheless. I have to carefully school my expression back to politely curious before turning around. The expression on Minerva's face alone as she steps inside and sees the papers stuck to my walls almost makes me lose it again. I suppose I can sympathize, It must practically look like the house of a madman. On one wall I have a timeline of Gilderoy Lockhart's life with missing persons reports stuck to it, on the other a series of family trees running in both directions from any known or suspected parselmouths.

"What is this?" Oh this..? This is a bloody work of art.

"Well, as I said, you solved one of the great mysteries in my life. Namely, who am I?"

"What?" She looks at me uncomprehendingly. Fair enough, after all how many 16 year olds need to go to such lengths to establish a credible identity after appearing out the ether?

I tap my chin thoughtfully while looking pointedly at my timeline. "Or maybe that should be 'who was I' at this point?" Shrugging I turn back to Minerva. "Something happened to me." I make a big show of getting more and more animated as I go, pacing around the room. "I'm not really sure what, but everything up until late last year is a mess in my head. It's like..." I scratch at the back of my head and plaster a thoughtful look on my face before snapping my fingers. "It's like I remember living multiple lives. Or...Or... like... someone took a bunch of jigsaw puzzles and mixed all the pieces together before forcing them into a collage, only instead of pieces, they're memories. I had a number of theories about what might have happened to me, but none of them really fit. The only thing I really remembered clearly was Roy." I point to the timeline his life on the wall and begin elaborating on my symptoms, shifting my language around to sound as eerily similar to what you'd get from repeatedly botching obliviations as I can without leaning on the technical terms I learned from my time as Gilderoy's diary. "A lot of the details are fuzzy, and trying to think about them makes my head hurt."

Pausing to stare at his picture on the wall, I tap his face with my finger. "I'm... not sure, but I think he found me when I was very young." I shake my head. "I think he raised me?"

"...you think?"

I stare at Minerva long enough to be awkward for both of us. "Can obliviators give you other people's memories? Or fabricate false ones?"

Knowing the answer already, I tap my head meaningfully. "Mix and match puzzle pieces, remember? I think I remember long stretches of self study," I gesture at the bookcase full of textbooks, "which I tried to keep up with, but..." I let my shoulders droop. "Sometimes I can't make things I remember learning work and have to try and relearn them from scratch." Self induced flight for instance, which is still proving impossibly exhausting. "Even weirder, I think sometimes I remember being Roy." I shrug apologetically and then pause for a moment as though collecting my thoughts. "Sometimes I even think I remember being a muggle. Which makes no sense but I do know a lot of random things about them that I can't really explain how I learned any other way. It's all kind of confusing, and it's all in my head, so I can't imagine it makes any more sense for you."

I shrug apologetically, but carry on before she can interrupt. "So... I've been looking through missing persons files for people who could have been me. None of them ever quite panned out. But! Now I know why!" I pause and grin widely at McGonagall whose look of mounting horror is absolutely fucking perfect as I gesture at the files stuck to his timeline. "None of them were named Winters! So... I must have missed something." I tap my chin, frowning, and staring at my work before turning around to stare at Minerva with as hopeful an expression as I can manage. "Do you know any Winters back in Britain? They'd have to be British if I'm getting a Hogwarts letter, right?"

"I can't say that I recall anyone by that surname, no." She shakes her head and catches sight of Harry's photo. A raises eyebrow and slight tensing of her jaw follows and she stares at my other attempts at 'finding myself.'

I'm all too happily to explain. "Another idea that didn't pan out." I comment mournfully. I wait for her to look at me before continuing. "If we're cousins, it looks like it's too far back in the historical fog to sort out. I didn't find any Winters in that search either."

"That search?" Of course anything pertaining to the precious boy who lived has her suspicious. Pity I can't do anything to change that.

"Parselmouth runs in families, yeah?" I shrug, turning away as if distracted before adding _$$Or so I'm told.$$_ I suspect Mother will be so _very_ unhappy if I can brow beat the public into thinking of parseltongue as being no different than speaking French-

Err... make that speaking Spanish. I suppress a shudder at the idea of being... _French_. Eurgh. The look on Minerva's face appears to match my feelings on the topic, though sadly I suspect she's reacting to my use of parseltongue rather than my horrifying thought.

In any case, I continue piloting Minerva through her rollercoaster of a day by walking her through all the various dead ends I hit during my search of family trees. Most particularly focusing on the frustrating points where people vanished from the records and may have died... or may have gotten married and had kids I wouldn't know how to find.

Of course, in my retelling, Tom Marvolo Riddle vanished into the ether during the Sixties, never to be heard from again, but we wouldn't want her thinking about him too hard anyway.

 **-Saint Mungo's Wizarding Hospital : Two Frustrating Weeks Worth of Healer's Examinations and Auror Depositions Later-**

Walking out of Saint Mungo's I sigh mournfully at the state of wizarding affairs these days. I really didn't want to believe the Daily Prophet was reporting accurately. A scant sixteen years old is far too young to be having a proper, 'back in my day...' moment and yet here I am.

The ministry is _finally_ looking into the idea that Lockhart 'may' have been a fraud now that I fucking spoon fed them idea as I spun my narrative of being kidnapped as a young boy and having had my head messed with past the point of recognition.

Having the Mind-Healers be able to back me up on that little detail given how bloody obvious the seams are even after months of trying to sort everything out was a plus. Not quite how I was expecting to have my Occlumency abilities stress tested, but that's life for you.

Merlin's pants, how they missed the whole disappearing into a smear on the Moscow portkey pad act I put on is beyond me. Even more frustrating is that I can't point it out to them now without defeating the whole bloody point.

I'd been assuming that Harry's memoirs were... that they had to be heavily biased... in his recounting of Mother's second rise to power, but now I suspect that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement may actually be that... overwhelmed... that they never got around to looking into it.

Or maybe Mad-Eye took over the case and everything went need to know on general principle.

...

Hell, for all I know all of those interviewers were Tonks. She'd still be a trainee right now, but who knows what Moody would consider an appropriate learning environment for his apprentice.

That or maybe someone was meddling in the investigation, but for once I can't find a reason why anyone other than the late and unlamented Lockhart himself would even want to.

His publisher maybe..? Though I was under the impression that she wasn't aware of Lockhart's actual methodology.

Dumbledore was apparently content to let the story about one of his professors come out in the previous go round, though I suppose that may have been as a side show to having Lucy removed from the Hogwarts Board.

...

I'll have to remember to add, 'inexplicable urge to refer to Lucius Malfoy as Lucy,' to my list of muggle induced symptoms. Maybe they glossed over Lockhart's disappearance to keep their little power struggle game over Hogwarts private?

Ungh, I still can't believe I went through all that work trying to find a way to fake an Identity in the magical world that would stand up to ministry scrutiny only have one literally handed to me by Hogwarts herself.

Of course, there are downsides, I remind myself as I hold out my wand to summon the knight bus. Being an extant person known to the department of Magical Law Enforcement means apparating in public is no longer a good idea. Not until I manage to turn 17- Damn it all.

I don't even know when my birthday ought to be. Is it still December 31 if I spent from Halloween of 1943 until the middle of January 1993 effectively on pause? Let alone have documentation to that effect.

Onto the bloody ever expanding to do list it goes.


	7. No Flirting

**Part 6 - No Flirting With The Huffers, The Puffers, The Griffons, or The Thirteen Year Olds. No Dueling Them Either:**

 **-Diagon Alley : One Obnoxiously Early Morning in Late June-**

Pushing the door open and walking into Ollivander's store is admittedly something of a gamble, but I suppose less so than keeping my appointment at Hogwarts later today.

If the sheer variety of diagnostic charms Saint Mungo's ran on me and the standard ones I was subjected to as part of the DMLE's efforts to record my statements didn't manage to find any holes in my identity as 'Tom Winters' then I ought to be fine.

Of course, I'm assuming that Garrick's routine is based on some manner of detection wards set up on his front door akin to the magic on the castle that the Marauder's Map taps into.

I really need to borrow that thing from the twins to study.

In any case, if the more esoteric nature of the Ollivander Family's setup finds something, I'd rather know that such a hole exists before I'm trapped in the castle with Albus.

I debate one last time just catching a portkey to Austria to visit Gregorovitch, but no, risky and possibly half crazed or not The Ollivanders are the best at this art and his last creation served Mother so well.

Bugger it. I step through the doorway and subject myself to untold manner of detection magic, lamenting again that my temporary stand in wand is not tucked into its holster, ready to appear in my hand and reduce the place to ash if anything goes sideways. Asking Ollivander to not notice my possessing a wand he sold to a recent missing persons would obviously be too much.

"Curious..."

I resist the urge to grab the nearest wand and hex the old man that seems to enjoy just appearing behind people far too much and elect instead to just roll with it. It's not like he didn't pull the same stunt on my first visit .

"Indeed. I-"

A wand practically appears in his hand out of nowhere and is suddenly being held out to me. Of course it does.

Groaning in my mind, I reach o- or not. The wand, and Garrick, are both already gone. Off to rummage about the shelves for something else with no more than a muttered, "hmmm..."

Somehow in all my planning for what to do if he realized who or what I am, I forgot to account for just how infuriating it is to actually deal with this man.

Not for the first time I debate the merits of crucio-ing Pettigrew until he produces my mother's old wand and- No, I'm quite sure Albus would notice. Hell, even Minister Fudge would likely notice _that_.

 **-An Hour of Using Every Calming Exercise I Learned Practicing Occlumency Later-**

I hand over the 7 Galleons and flee the shop with as much dignity as I can manage while reining in the urge to start flinging killing curses like they're going out of style.

Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but the man is almost as irritating as Albus.

Still, it does feel nice to have a properly matched wand in my possession. Blackthorn and Phoenix Feather. I roll my eyes again. Of buggerfucking course it'd be a phoenix feather core, our whole little clan uses the 'rare' things. Thank Merlin I didn't get some ridiculous speech about Fawkes miraculously electing to donate a third feather or I suspect I'd have lost it.

I have no idea why I feel so strongly about that. Sure, the meddlesome old goat would have taken an interest in anything of that sort but... hmmm...

Pulling my focus inward- Huh... that's strange. The feelings seem to be The Blasted Muggle's fault... which... it seems odd that a muggle would have opinions on wandcrafting at all, let alone such a strong one.

Can't say that I disagree with him though, Fawkes deciding to meddle would be a bit much.

Now I just need to catch a floo to Hogsmeade and make the trek up to the castle.

 **-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry : Later That Day-**

I look down at the written portion of the exam.

Seriously?

Did they just bloody Gemino Charm the OWLs from 1943?

I'm onto page 3 before I find something I can reliably say wasn't on the exam last time. Seriously? I start flipping pages, okay, good, it looks like they just duplicate the really basic stuff that could probably have been dropped entirely.

Despite not knowing I would be taking the OWLs at all until a month ago, between having spent the past few months working through the material for NEWTS and having already taken the tests once before, I feel like saying I'm over-prepared is a touch of an understatement. I suppress a snort, over-prepared is how I felt the first time I took this bloody test.

Sure, I'm under no illusions that getting a slightly higher score on my Transfiguration OWL will do anything for me, but I can't help but grin at the idea that I'll be nudging Mother down one notch in all the record books. I remember him being rather proud of being in the top 10 across the board.

Should beat out that Frenchman from the 1700's this time, I only missed that by half a point last time around. Unless... Minerva may or may not have beaten his score already though so it's possible I'd still wind up in fifth place in Transfiguration even with a slightly better score. It's a pity that, even with the extra prep, I still won't be able to unseat buggerfucking Dumbledore from his place at the top of the transfiguration records.

Then again, the school's motto comes to mind, as doing that would certainly draw the old goat's attention even more so than being the twelfth ever 'transfer student' at Hogwarts. I wonder how the other eleven managed it? Minerva only mentioned accidental time travel was involved in the first, nearly 700 years ago, and I didn't inquire further due to my own uncertain temporal nature but now I'm left still curi-

Stop.

Focus on the exam.

Shaking my head, I return to constructing my essay on the implications of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.

 _...and thusly, because an object's_ true _nature is not changed, but merely it's form, we are unable to effectively transfigure..._

 **-A Few Hours Later-**

"So, if I do well on the exams I'll be joining you folks for Sixth Year in the fall." I continue my somewhat modified tale of woe to Miss Selwyn, who allegedly always felt there was something off about Lockhart.

Apparently I finish just in time, as she's called to complete her practical exam before she can respond. This leaves me alone with Mister Wynch, the other half of the committee it seems was appointed to find out the life's story of the random bloke that no one had ever seen before taking his OWLs with them.

Oh Hogwarts' rumor mill, some days you really do make my life easier.

"What if you don't do well?" Mister Wynch interrupts my musing to ask.

I plaster a thoughtful frown on my face. "Professor McGonagall didn't actually say. Do you know what happens to normal students that fail their exams? I'm sure it must have happened to someone, yeah?"

"I-" Mister Wynch opens his mouth and starts to speak but then pauses and closes it again.

"I... don't know. I've never heard of that happening."

Not about to let the fact that I haven't either distract me, I glance pointedly at his yellow tie. "From what I've heard around the Inn I'm staying at, I suspect you... Huffer Puffers..?" I raise an eyebrow and make the word sound confusingly foreign and strange. But then I deny him the opportunity to correct me by continuing on blithely. "...wouldn't let a fellow badger fall so far behind that it'd ever be an issue. Maybe we could ask one of the... Griffons was it?" I look over at them, smiling as I give them a wave. "They're the ones in red eavesdropping on us from over there, yeah?"

The Gryffindor students in question, true to their house, look completely unashamed and one of them even smiles and waves back at us as we walk over.

"Nope."

I raise an eyebrow at the girl.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "We haven't heard of anyone failing all their owls either."

"Well then, I'm sure we'll all be fine then. Good luck just the same though."

"Thanks, you too." They chorus, before one of them spins around and heads towards the exam room. I assume their name was called while I was distracted.

"So... Anything you can tell me about Hogwarts that Professor McGonagall might have left off the official welcome speech?"

 **-Some Idle Gossip During Which I Confirm That Harry Potter is Only Involved in About Three Quarters of the Interesting Stories This Year and One Practical Transfiguration Exam Later-**

Walking out of the classroom I stare down at my new wand with a frown. So that's what the old man meant.

It works well enough, I suppose, certainly better than that fickle thing I got from Lockhart or the wand that woman had.

Not like it impacted my testing or anything... just... something felt... off. Incomplete, maybe?

Shrugging, I guess I really will need to endure some sort of battle or hardship with it at my side before it properly bonds and works as well as I recall Mother's wand working for him.

I snort, as if finding my way into trouble is going to be difficult. Being at Hogwarts for testing all week, I'm liable to do that soon if even just by accident.

Still... no reason not to help nudge things along. Time to go visit Professor Flitwick- Three steps later I pause. Right... I'm supposed to be new here. I abort my trip to the Ravenclaw Head's office and look around for a student to 'ask for directions.'

Oh. Perfect. "Excuse me, do you know where I might find a Professor Flitwick's Office?"

Hermione Granger, future possessor of a time turner, smiles up at me bashfully.

 **-A Short Stroll- During Which I Most Certainly Do Not Flirt With A Thirteen Year Old Girl No Matter What Impression She May Have Gotten Later-**

The door is open when we arrive, but I knock on it anyway before leaning my head in.

"Ah, Mister Winters, our new transfer student. You have all the faculty abuzz with speculation about how you managed to slip through the cracks, you know."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, I suspected that might be the case."

"You must have just come from your Transfiguration OWL, what brings you to my office today? Did you have questions about the Charms exam tomorrow?

"Actually, I think I'm all set for the exam but- Well sir...I heard you were a duelist before you took up the charms professorship and I was wondering if you knew how one might go about finding a... league is it?"

Flitwick's eyes light up a bit, though whether dueling is a favorite topic or if he's happy to be the one to get the scoop for the faculty gossip club is anyone's guess. "You have an interest in dueling?"

"Sure?" I shrug. "It's actually more that my wand that has an interest in dueling, and I have no reason not to indulge it." At his curious look I hold up the wand in question. "Mister Ollivander said that Blackthorn wands don't finish 'choosing their wizard' until they've undergone some manner of trial by fire." I scratch the back of my head. "I debated trespassing on a dragon preserve or trying to break into Gringotts, but dueling seemed like the more practical way to go about things."

That at least gets a laugh out of the half- quarter? Some amount part-goblin professor. "Well, there is an amateur league that runs over the summer that you could try out for, but... hmmm..."

"Let me guess, I'd need some form of parental permission slip, and a stack of paperwork taller than I am from the ministry?" I snort.

"Well, the stack of paperwork is actually only about _my_ height, not yours, but otherwise yes."

"Since the odds of my parent's spontaneously electing to exist are fairly slim..." I pause and let myself make a show of reining in my only half faked irritation. "I guess it's a good thing I've been working on getting proper citizenship and emancipation paperwork set up ever since Professor McGonagall informed me I was on the student register. Granted, that process is currently stalled out as I apparently need approximately umpteen OWLs to prove that I'm capable of handling my own affairs."


	8. Nothing Dear, You're Very Pretty

**Part 7 - Nothing Dear, You're Very Pretty**

 **-Hogwarts – Charms Classroom Floor : Late June-**

I lay on my back, staring at the oddly shaped smudge on the ceiling, and trying desperately not to contemplate my probable concussion.

"Well, you're not terrible." The psychotic imp of a professor informs me far too cheerfully as he starts going about the process of returning his classroom to working order. "There is definitely some potential there."

At least one of us enjoyed ourselves.

Not terrible. The sad thing is that coming from a retired dueling champion that's probably fairly high praise for a 16 year old.

I try again to get my sore muscles to agree to let me stand up. They eventually agree to cooperate with the minor caveat that I allow them to whine and complain the entire time.

Levering myself up off the floor, I turn to watch as the desk that clocked me in the back of the head is de-animated and returned to its usual spot at the front of the classroom.

Blasted Transfiguration. I still need to work on that.

Should also work on a way to see behind myself while I'm at it. That'd be useful too. Cracking my neck and beginning to do some stretches, I finally deem myself fit to respond. "Thank you... I think. I don't suppose you'd be willing to weigh in on whether or not I should bother with all the work to join that youth dueling league once exams are over?"

"Oh, certainly. I suspect most duelists your age would have fallen for that stunt you tried to pull with... was that a scouring charm?"

I snort. "Almost... The not so slight modifications I had make to the spell to shift it to that shade of green technically push it to just shy of a miscast. As a result, it doesn't actually scour anything any more than being hit in the face with a damp sponge would, but you were still supposed to at least try to dodge it."

Flitwick just taps the side of his head. "Goblins have a slightly different visual range, to me it was still very obviously not the right shade of green." He shrugs.

Huh... I wonder if there's a charm to produce that effect. Some manner of variant supersensory charm perhaps? I'll have to look into that some time.

Pulling back to the present, I thank the professor for his time and make my escape. I should probably go check in with Madam Ston- with Madam Pomfrey.

 **-Leaky Cauldron – One Not** ** _Entirely_** **Voluntary Full Medical Work Up Later-**

Clean bill of health or not, flooing with a headache is a singularly unpleasant experience. I collapse onto my bed at the Leaky Cauldron, planning to quite happily call it an early night.

My mind however, has other plans it would seem. Plans that unfortunately involve ruminating on the various bits of useless trivia I've learned today, and since arriving in Britain.

Something isn't adding up. I roll over and frown at the ceiling. Something someone said feels... wrong? Not incorrect, but... off.

Like... I'm forgetting something important, maybe? No... more like...

Oh, Merlin Blast It! I roll out of bed and begin pacing back and forth.

Even the sodding Hufflepuffs noticed that Lucy's been spending more and more time on Hogwarts grounds lately.

He gave Ginny the diary and was clearly expecting something to happen. Not so much the attacks... But I... put the Basilisk back to sleep and then left. Lucy is probably trying to find out what happened to the diary. Best of luck to him on that one given that I hid it in the chamber.

Hermione's story didn't include any additional disasters induced by Dobby trying to 'save' the great Harry Potter Sir's life... so no, that's not what's bothering me.

I mean...

Wait.

If Lucy was never able to have Albus removed from the school, then he was never dismissed from the school board...

With any luck they'll choke on each other and- ARGH! I'm never going to be able to un-see that mental image now.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Apparently a boy making retching noises in front of the sink is cause for concern in enchanted mirrors.

"I'm fine." I plaster a smile on my face before spinning away from it and closing the washroom door.

Blasted Muggle and his half remembered memoirs.

Ah well.

Distressing mental images aside, it's a pity the Hufflepuffs I spoke to couldn't have been more aware of- Okay, expecting Hufflepuffs to be on the ball might be a bit much.

Nothing for it though. I'll just have to make a point of finding out more tomorrow.

Flitwick did say I ought to be welcome to join the students for breakfast. Surely someone in Slytherin still pays more attention to what their politically connected parents are up to than Draco does.

 **-Hogwarts Castle – Breakfast the Next Morning-**

I don't really know how to feel about the events of this morning.

Given that I inherited my father's rather fervent adherence to Saint Murphy-ism, I can't really claim surprise that things didn't go quite according to plan... but honestly?

I mean, I'm sitting at the _Gryffindor_ Table!

It was all going so well too. Then I just had to go and arrive at the Great Hall before _most_ of the other students.

I think the worst part is that Albus looks... happy. Meddlesome wanker. I'm not entirely convinced he didn't arrange this somehow. I am sure that he's listening in.

Still, despite how fundamentally wrong this situation is, I'm not entirely sure how to fix it just yet without giving away the game.

Thus stymied, I instead turn my attention back to the cause of my current predicament. If I'm going to dragged into the asylum, I may as well make the most of it.

Tilting my head to the side I plaster a puzzled look onto my face as Miss Granger's slightly babbling explanation of how she's planning to sign up for all the electives next year finally winds down.

"Isn't that going to be a lot of... Erm..." At first I had written it off as cliques of friends sticking together, but watching yet another little girl give our section of the table a wide berth before squeezing in elsewhere was stretching my theory's credibility. I understand from both the memoirs and now a limited amount of personal experience that Hermione at full steam can be a bit… much… but a full table's berth seems... excessive. "Miss Granger? Is there any particular reason your fellow Griffons seem to be avoiding us?" Not that I mind. At all. But it's suspicious, and I'd prefer to avoid suspicious at the moment.

Hermione suddenly looks... uncomfortable. Well, mostly uncomfortable. There's also an impressive swirl of sadness, anger, and resignation going on all at the same time. Quite the 180 from the excited child I was speaking to a moment ago. She opens her mouth and then closes it awkwardly. Then she does it again and her expression shifts towards embarrassed.

I roll my eyes and announce somewhat louder than necessary. "I don't bite, you know. Well…" my mind flashes back to my brief stint as Gilderoy, "not unless she asks me to."

Still bright red, her attempts to glare at me lose only a small bit of their spark. "That's not-"

Whatever she was going to say gets lost in the cacophony that is Ronald Weasley joining us.

"Morning," A large spoonful of eggs vanishes into his mouth, "Hermione." He looks over at me and frowns, somehow continuing to fill his plate with food without really looking. "You're that new bloke, right? Some sort of Yank?"

"Indeed." I raise an eyebrow and stare back at him for a moment, very carefully looking anywhere but his mouth, before turning back to Hermione. "I withdraw my question. Clearly your fellows are just looking after their health, not wishing to have their limbs eaten by accident."

"No," a voice says quietly behind me, "they're just avoiding me."

I turn my head and watch as one Harry James Potter just sort of... slumps... into the seat next to me.

...huh.

I remember things souring after Halloween but according to the memoirs... shouldn't things have... ah. Harry was outed as a Parselmouth and then the attacks stopped almost immediately afterwards when I was... born... for lack of a better word.

 _Awkward._

Potentially convenient for me though, if I can make it work. Happy, well-adjusted people are so much harder to turn to task.

How to do it with Albus watching though… I glance at Hermione and find my answer in her indignant expression. Oh yes, I think it's time to dial the persona I cooked up for Professor Mcgonagall up to eleven.

"Ah…" I let my voice drag out and I grin broadly as I head off whatever rant she's prepared on on the topic of Harry's moping. "You must be the illustrious Mr. Potter that Miss Granger speaks so highly of." I stick out a hand. "Thomas Winters, as yet unsorted transfer student." Once he's shaken my hand, I turn back to Hermione and shift my grin to a knowing smile. "You were right, he is adorable. " Hermione turns an even brighter red as Ron sprays some of his juice all over the table and Harry begins making choking noises. I barely give them all a half second to recover before putting my hands up. "I kid. But seriously, it's good to meet you-" Little Brother. "-Cousin." I allow a brief pause for what I said to sink in as I take a sip of my juice, but then steamroll onwards before anyone can properly decide how to react. "What makes you say they're avoiding you?"

Behind his absolutely horrific glasses, Harry's eyes are focused sharply on me. Of course he spoils the effect completely with a stuttered, "huh?"

Opting to be obtuse, I roll my eyes and point at the lions on either side of us who are making the folks eavesdropping on me yesterday look like unparalleled masters of discretion. "You said your housemates are avoiding you. What'd you do, knock up a Hufflepuff?" I have to struggle not to laugh at their expressions.

My plan is a bit derailed when the kid actually takes the bait instead of just spluttering. He manages to turn and impressive shade of bright red and practically hisses an embarrassed sounding, "No!" at me.

"Oh." I feign bemusement. "They are the ones you lot don't see eye to eye with tho, yeah? Some sort of inane rivalry?" I shrug, letting a slight frown settle onto my face. "Not sure I see it. The one's I've spoken to seemed nice enough." I turn around enough to nod my head at the first eavesdropping Badger to make eye contact with me.

Oh. _Hey there._ She's the girl from the broom closet when I was making my great escape a few months back. I smile and give her a muted wave of acknowledgement. Even the student robes can't really hide that she's quite the fit bird. Nice enough indeed.

She smiles back at me and-

"Nah." A lanky redhead plops down next me out of nowhere. I have to fight back the urge to scowl at myself for losing track of my surroundings as I turn back around to face the table. Ungh. Being so easily distracted by a nice pair of knockers. I knew _that_ change was going to be a problem. Unaware or unconcerned by my sudden mood, the boy nudges me with his elbow and grins at me. "Yeah. The Puffs are _alright_." His eyebrows going up and down a few times as he says 'alright' in a knowing tone.

"It's the Slytherins you've got to watch out for." Another redhead, identical to the first, adds as he slides into the seat across from his brother, next to Hermione.

Which twin is which, I haven't the foggiest. Even if the charmwork I tagged them with during one of the lessons I taught as Lockhart hadn't long since faded, I was only ever able to confirm that there were actually only two of them and that they were both in class that day.

"Ah… I see... So the rest of your house is avoiding us because Harry's snogging a Slytherin?" I nod thoughtfully as I turn back to Harry, who seems to be once again choking on air, and pat him on the back. "Well that seems a touch excessive to me, but to each their... own… Erm… hold up. It's not that blonde Miss Selwyn told me is always picking fights with you is it?"

"What!?"

"Malfoy!?"

"You think-"

" **I am not snogging Malfoy!** " Judging by his suddenly panicked expression, I very much doubt Harry meant to shout that last bit quite so forcefully.

The sudden silence in the great hall is amazing. All the more so as an answering, and equally offended sounding, shout rings out from behinds us a second later. " **WHAT!?** "

Turning to face the crowds, I find a wonderful mix of equally confused and amused looking faces staring at us. I offer them all a wide grin before shouting back across the hall towards my best guess of where Draco is sitting. "NOTHING DEAR! YOU'RE VERY PRETTY, BUT MY COUSIN JUST DOESN'T THINK OF YOU THAT WAY!"

I let my grin die as I turn back and find five unamused glares aimed at me. "Too much?"

At their nods, I slap a sheepish expression on my face and scratch at the back of my head before turning to Harry. "Sorry. I'm sort of new to this whole being an older cousin thing." I shrug. "Can we try again?"

While Harry looks at me funny, I spot Hermione leaning in over the table out of the corner of my eye. "Why do you keep calling him your cousin?"

" _Oh_..." I nod like they've just reminded me of something important and pull my book bag around so I can shove my arm into it. I shrug and start making a show of rummaging around.

I give it a three count, figuring that having spent this long with my arm all the way up to my shoulder in a rather small bag, even the average Gryffindor ought be able to figure out that my bag is magically expanded.

Eh. Hermione will be able to explain it to them later. I pull out the copy of the Daily Prophet with that absurd article theorizing that Lily Evans was a Dark Witch and a parselmouth and put it down on the table. Tapping it pointedly, I take a deep breath and roll the dice. "I think we're cousins. _$$On your Mother's side…$$_ "


	9. What Was Your Question Again?

_A/N - Anyone know why my chapter word counts seem to gain 50-ish words the first time I open and then re-save them after changing **nothing**?_

 **Part 8 : I'm Sorry, What Was Your Question Again?**

-Hogwarts Castle - Great Hall : Breakfast - Day 2 of Exams -

"...Healer Stonewood over at Saint Mungo's tells me that repeated obliviations like that are something of a mixed bag. They think my memories will either sort themselves out and come back in time or…" I frown slightly, and shrug helplessly. "... _far_ more likely, they won't. In which case…" I sigh, "I guess I'll just have to make the most of it, seeing as there's apparently," I gesture halfheartedly at nothing in particular and let some frustration seep into my voice, " _nothing I can do about it._ " I leave the small scowl on my face for a brief moment before shrugging again and going back to nearly Hufflepuff levels of upbeat. "So I'm trying to start as I want to go on, you know?" I shake my head ruefully with a helpless chuckle. "It helps that the DMLE seems to be taking the whole thing very seriously and I at least have a name to go off now."

I take sip of my juice, prolonging the break in narration and giving me an opportunity to try and get a read on my audience.

Judging from the bit of extra distance he's maintaining, I'd say Ron still seems uncomfortable with my presence. I think I'll survive the disappointment. I do note, however, that he's not letting his discomfort stop him from eating his fill. Or from paying attention to my tale of Professor Lockhart's many vile deeds. 'Always knew there was something wrong with that bloke,' indeed.

Harry seems to have warmed a bit to the idea of being cousins. In retrospect I'm not sure how it never occurred to me that growing up with Dudley might have put him off cousins as a whole, but even if the boy weren't broadcasting his thoughts in the clear, I like to think I'd have been able to piece together where his initial frown stemmed from. Eventually. How fortunate for me that being as un-Dudley-like as possible requires changing absolutely nothing about myself. I'm somewhat less sure what to make of his extreme distaste for being the center of attention. I mean, given his upbringing, I guess it makes a fair amount of sense, but that doesn't make it any less unhelpful. Again, I suppose it's fortunate that my adopted persona seems well suited to sucking all the attention out of a room, leaving him to his own devices. Doesn't help me figure a way to cure his modesty though as it was never an affliction I suffered.

The twins look morbidly fascinated while Hermione looks incensed on my behalf. The three of them are also giving off the sort of vibes one might expect from a scientist eyeing a particularly intriguing specimen, albeit for somewhat different reasons I suspect.

Most interesting of all though, is the confirmation coming from the head table that they were indeed listening in. Unsurprising considering that the Great Hall is currently the closest I've ever heard it to silent during a meal, which is to say that there's a lot of whispering and shushing going on. _Everyone_ seems to be listening in. Well, I suppose it's possible the professors are all animatedly discussing something else entirely behind that sound dampening spell that Severus tossed up shortly after my tale reached the 'drive the bus in circles over Lockhart's corpse' phase. But I'd say it's unlikely given how often they tend to shoot pointed glances our way. I stubbornly resist the urge to wave cheekily at Albus, but it's a near run thing.

"So," I force my attention back to my own table, "as I was saying before I got side-tracked… There I was, ass end of nowhere and not even knowing my own name, but I had a wand in my hand and I knew _magic_." I let my eyes slide over to Hermione as I practically sigh that last word with a reverence that is entirely genuine. "It was weird. I mean a part of me still seems to balk at magic being real." I snort. "A part that keeps expecting to wake up in a hospital somewhere and find out I hit my head or something and this has all been some sort of fever dream." I pause a moment, until I catch that flicker of recognition from Hermione and my brother. Every Muggle-raised student knows exactly what I mean. Even Mother, albeit we got over it long before our Hogwarts letter arrived. Getting to experience it anew as the reality of my newfound freedom sank in was one of the things that really reinforced the notion that I was my own person now. "In the end it didn't too much matter though. I wasn't about to let myself starve to death just because my situation seemed fantastical. I had little idea of how to survive on my own the muggle way, but it turns out that line of sight apparition and transfiguration will cover a multitude of sins in that regard. Or so I figured." I groan theatrically, leaning forward to rest my face on my hands with my elbows on the table. "Merlin's pants I was an idiot."

Glancing around, I have to wonder if some of the consternation visible at the head table stems from how heavily I'm leaning on traits I'm sure come from father's side of the merger. Charming and charismatic though Mother may have been, and a skilled orator to boot; an avid storyteller he was not, and the self deprecating style I'm using was certainly not one he'd have adopted were he to try and fake it.

Albus can't possibly have missed the family resemblance, but seeing me sitting here looking happy as a Badger Firsty must be a bit of shock.

"I woke up 'knowing' how to do magic, right?" I add the air quotes for good measure. "I built that cabin McGonagall found me in one transfiguration at a time. Did all my own charm work to keep it warm and dry. Cool, right?" I wait for the nods of agreement. "...But… " I smile and shake my head, "as it turns out, not everything worked as I expected. A few weeks in I was working on the more fiddly bits of getting the plumbing to produce hot water when I found that what I could clearly remember producing hot water…" I let my face go slack, and my smile slide off. "...wasn't. I found a bunch of little things like that that didn't quite line up with what I remembered."

"So?"

"Well, on top of being subjected to an utterly miserable shower experience while I worked out what was wrong… You have to remember that by this point I had been apparating everywhere like it was going out of style for weeks." Hermione's eyes widen rather comically as she connects the dots a half step ahead of the others. I give a theatrical shudder as I continue, "If I'd made my discovery another way, while apparating for example; they'd likely still be finding pieces of me all along the Appalachian Trail. There's a reason they only have you go six feet or so when you're first learning how to do it. Keeps the splatter to a minimum." I let my amused laughter fade to a frown. "At least that's how I remember them teaching it. There's no actual record of me ever taking the classes so it's hard for one to say who's memories of learning to apparate I have shoved into my head. I'm just very thankful _those_ are part of the set that work."

As if able to sense that I had reached a good stopping point- which I suppose is possible given, you know, Hogwarts- the castle's bells began to toll, indicating that it was time to head to class. Or, in the case of myself and the Fifth Years, our OWLS.

Grabbing the Daily Prophet off the table to use as a prop as I stand up, I frown down at it for a moment before looking at my brother and his friends. "I seem to have gotten caught up in my own story and never actually got to answer your question in any real detail." I scratch at my chin and feign thought. "If I haven't bored you all immensely to the point of being sick of me, we could carry on tomorrow?"

 **-Hogwarts Castle - Hallways Near Flitwick's Office : After That Day's Exams -  
**

 _"_ _The hell?"_ I pause, scratching my face as I stare at the intersection a few meters ahead of me as the screaming starts to fade into the distance. It's been a while, but I think seeing a Ravenclaw- maybe a second or third year... girl?- run by with a glowing green bat chasing her is still an unusual occurrence even by Hogwarts standards.

Taking a step forward, I spot another girl, even smaller than the first and in Gryfindork robes this time, run by and- _Ah_. Ginevra Weasley. I sigh contentedly, life makes sense again.

Nodding to myself, I resume my trek towards Flitwick's office only to walk straight into a third small girl as we both come round the same corner in opposite directions.

Simply knocking her on her arse alone wouldn't be embarrassing enough, I have to then trip over her and wind up sprawled out on top of the tiny waif of a thing. Ungh.

Picking myself up off the ground, and noting the myriad portraits watching us closely, I go to offer her sheepish hand up when I make note of the girl's earrings.

Small girl?

Blonde hair?

Silvery blue eyes?

Close proximity to an enraged Ginny Weasley?

 _Radishes worn as earrings?_

Why hello there, Miss Lovegood.

"Sorry about that, Little Miss. I'm afraid I let myself get a touch distracted."

If she's at all bothered by being knocked over, you'd never know it. _I_ can't seem to get a read on her, and I'm a bloody legilimencer. The girl just smiles up at me serenely before taking my proffered hand up. Once returned to an upright position, she nods at me agreeably. "Hmmm… yes, the wrackspurts have a way of doing that."

"Ah." I glance pointedly down the hallway Ginny and her prey went down. "Is that what that thing I saw chasing the other girl down the hall was?"

"Oh, no." Luna giggles. "That was Ginny's Bat Boogey Hex. She's quite good at it."

"I see. Now, I may regret asking this, but do you know _why_ Miss… Ginny… was chasing the girl through the hallways?"

"To get my trainers back."

"Uhhh…" I glance down at her feet. "You appear to already be wearing- Hmmm… they do perhaps look a touch big for you."

"Oh, these are Marietta's. She has bigger feet than I do."

"...Marietta?" Name sounds familiar...

Luna just nods at me, but then glances down the hall Ginny ran down.

A suspicion arises in my mind. "And _why_ are you wearing Marietta's shoes?"

"Ginny said I should wear them until she returned mine."

"I… see…" Suspicion confirmed. "That's alright then, I suppose." I nod at her, forced smile fixed firmly on my face. "Carry on." I watch for a moment as she starts tottering off, her overlarge shoes flopping about on her- "Miss Lovegood?"

"Hmmm?" She turns around, smiling.

"Would you like me to transfigure them smaller for you?"

"Oh, no. I quite like the way they sound."

Sure enough, as she spins around and resumes making her way slowly down the hall, I can make out a slapping noise not unlike a muted version of the noise you hear when one runs in flip flops.

Hmmm… If I'm going to continue to act the good Samaritan, I should probably mention all of this to Flitwick during our meeting. Costs me nothing and will add one more spoke in Albus's wheels as he tries to decide what to make of my parselmouth self.

Decision made, I resume my journey down the hall, keeping an eye out for any further self propelled tripping hazards as I go.


	10. Et Tu, Granger?

**Part 9 - Et Tu, Granger?**

-Hogwarts - Great Hall : Breakfast - Day 3 of Exams-

"...so it was almost month later, and I had _finally_ found a ward scheme that kept the thrice damned squirrels out." I lean back, shaking my head and chuckling. "So you can imagine how I felt when, not a week later, I come home and find a bloody house cat sitting on my table."

Across the Gryffindor table from me, Fred and George, still no clue which is which, both glance towards the Head Table and then groan. "Oh. Bloody hell, mate." The one on left adds.

Next to me, Hermione follows their gaze and then her hands suddenly shoot to her face, half covering the mounting look of horror as she turns back to me. "You didn't!"

I nod my head to her once. "Fortunately not, thank Merlin. I imagine hexing her would a great way to get on the Vice Principal- Erm… Sorry, what was it you lot call them? Deputy Headmistress?" I wait for Hermione's nod before continuing. "I imagine hexing the Deputy Headmistress would be a _fantastic_ way to start things off on the wrong foot." I sigh. "Fortunately, something felt... off... about the whole situation and I decided the cat was a distraction for some manner of trap. It wasn't until I used a homenum revelio that I realized the cat wasn't actually a cat and- Oh, hey!" I spot both of our brothers walking into the hall. "Look who finally decided to wake up."

The two boys stare at me in sleepy discontent for a moment. I catch a flickering glimpse of a late night spent brewing potions- detention with Severus perhaps?- before they just look at each other, and then sit down on the Weasley twins' side of the table in a manner that suggests they think they're making a statement. I'd be offended if it wasn't suiting my preferences so well, letting me keep an eye on them, both twins, and the general public at the tables behind them all at the same time.

Not that I wasn't going to extract some manner of petty vengeance for the intended slight anyway. Smiling, I nudge Hermione with my elbow and wink at the twins. " _So._ _After_ I almost set Professor McGonagall on fire..."

"Mrgh-wha!?" Cue sprayed food from the new arrivals.

I wave my wand negligently, cleaning up the table, but otherwise do my level best to pretend I didn't notice. "She shows me a Hogwarts letter and asks if I know a 'Thomas Winters.' I didn't, incidentally, but I was reasonably confident in my assertion that I was in fact the only inhabitant of my little cabin in the woods, seeing as I'd built it. Ergo, the mystery of 'who am I?' was solved. _Hoo...ray…_ Now, those of you paying attention might notice that I sound massively underwhelmed by what ought to be a very happy moment, yeah?"

Grinning, and joining me in blatantly ignoring Ron and Harry's attempt to get me to rewind a bit, the twins nod in near perfect unison. It's somewhat unnerving to watch when they manage to pull it off just right but I've had it on my list of things to ignore since before I technically met them.

"The thing of it is, that I'd been spending the past few months, when not waging war on the blasted squirrels, poring over missing persons reports and family trees of known parselmouths. The surname Winters never came up in any of that, which means I still couldn't explain where I came from for sure." I shrug. "I probably would have told McGonagall 'Thanks, but no thanks' if not for the article I'd come across a few weeks prior." I tap my current favorite prop.

"Hogwarts, in addition to being a top notch school, is home to Magical Britain's only other known living parselmouth, and, thank you magic super-genes, my only known blood relative." I finally look over at Harry once more. "Though admittedly, unless your Aunt Petunia-" Harry and I take a brief moment to make faces expressing our mutual distaste for anything that reminds us that Petunia exists. "-had me when she was like 15 and then buried all the evidence incredibly well, then I don't think we'll ever really know exactly how we're related. Muggle record keeping has come a long way of late, but I, or even my whole family line, could just as easily be the product of an affair which aren't in the records for fairly obvious reasons. All of which ignores that even if I was in the official records, if we go back even just a few generations whole swaths of your mother's family tree vanish into obscurity since muggle record keeping back then was fucking terrible outside of the nobility and that was _before_ the bloody tax office caught fire."

 _"_ _Thomas!"_

I turn to Hermione, who's staring at me, looking scandalized.

" _What?_ I'm serious. Have you seen the genealogy trees some of the more obsessive members of the wizarding community have put together over the ages? The one The Ministry has on file for the Black family goes back 17 generations and has a little notation on it that says the family itself has the more complete listing stashed in their vault. Granted, it helps that their family tree doesn't actually branch out all... that… much… Hmmm…" Judging by Hermione's expression... "none of that had anything to do with what was bothering you did it?"

Finally able to get a word in edgewise, Hermione folds her arms over her chest and glares at me. " _Language!_ "

I replay my previous statements in my head, thank you occlumency training exercises, and… "Oh. _I'm so terribly sorry,_ I meant to say that nineteenth century muggle record keeping is uhhh… Huh... You know, I can't think of a single satisfactory way to describe it that doesn't involve cursing." I shrug. " _But!_ If you'll allow me to blatantly distract you from my own shortcomings," I hook a thumb at the other four, "I don't suppose you know why the peanut gallery is in stitches? Er- What happened to your hair?"

 **-Hogwarts - Hallways : Just Before The Exams-**

The peanut gallery, as it turns out, was enjoying the results of their labors as their fellow students' hair all started changing color to match their house.

With all of the fifth years gathered in one place, it makes for a colorful vista. Though I suspect my amusement stems at least a little from not having been caught up in it myself. I quite enjoyed the look on the twins' faces when they realized they had been thwarted not by any particular cleverness on my part but rather by my only having gotten around to drinking the coffee I brought with me from Hogsmeade when the potion- which they'd had the house elves lace the pumpkin juice with- took hold.

I tilt my head slightly and offer a blandly cheerful expression to the Hufflepuff I spot breaking off from the cete and start heading my way. Curiously, this seems to be causing mild consternation and displeasure amongst the other badgers. "So I take it you drew the short straw today?"

The Boy, a prefect apparently, almost manages to look offended I would even think such a thing. The effect is spoiled somewhat by his obvious distraction as the charms I layered onto my own hair- It wouldn't do to stand out in unamusing ways- picks up his proximity and shifts my hair from it's default 'redhead as done by crayola' to a sort of dayglow yellow to match his own.

I smile as the silence drags on just a bit. "As yet unsorted, remember?"

"...Right..." He holds out a hand. "Cedric Diggory."

Oh, _of course you are._

"Thomas Winters." I shake Dudley Do-Right's hand. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to say welcome to Hogwarts and good luck on your exams."

"Ah, likewise." I nod back at him before letting my eyes drift back to the other badgers. "Any particular reason why your doing so seems to offend your fellow badgers?"

"They uh…" he shifts uncomfortably, "think you're evil."

"Do they now?" I raise an eyebrow. "Did they happen to mention just what it is I'm supposed to have done? Or am I to suppose Miss Selwyn is a mind reader?"

That earns me an odd look. "Are you saying she'd find evil in your mind if she were?"

"Well no, but I did spend a fair amount of our last conversation picturing her starkers. Some girls can hold a grudge over things like that."

"Really?" Cedric, wide-eyed, starts looking back and forth from me to Miss Selwyn who herself is starting to look a bit peeved about all the unexplained attention.

"Well I mean, it's a bit odd that she didn't mention it at the time..." I sigh. Puffs always seem to lack a properly developed sarcasm filter. "No. Not even a little bit." I shrug. "She's not really my type, but it'd be a bit more reasonable explanation than writing me off because I happen to be able to speak a few extra languages."

"It's not that."

I just raise my eyebrow again.

"Okay, it's not just that. We lost one of the second years a few months ago."

"I heard about that. Made the papers Stateside and everything. He was petrified wasn't he? I thought the Board of Governors was going to look into it?"

"They did. Nothing came of it. But Madam Pomfrey was able to wake him up a few nights ago." Well, fuck. How did I forget about that? I plaster a smile on my face. This is not a good time to panic. "The last thing he remembers is hearing a loud hissing noise."

"Huh." That's barely even incriminating. "To me it just sounds like English, but I assume that's what you lot hear when I _$$speak?$$_ "

"Yeah. Now obviously you were still in America back then, so you don't know, but…"

"But it sounds creepy as all fuck and," I push as much derision into my voice as I can manage at the moment, "makes the _villagers_ nervous." I shrug. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." I smile flatly. "Und keine eier."

"What?"

"Muggle recording. Done up to sound like a Nazi- They were Grindelwald's muggle puppets- Rally."

"I assume it isn't?"

"Nah, people just hear what they want or expect to hear. In reality the lead singer is just reading a German recipe for eggless cookies very… _enthusiastically_."

"Eggless cookies? Seriously?"

"Und keine eier." I make the effort to say it angrily before letting my expression go slack. "And no eggs."

"Right…" He blinks. "You said 'a few extra languages'?"

"English- _obviously_ \- Parseltongue, German, Spanish, and- to my great and everlasting shame- a fair bit of French. Though I'd hesitate to call myself fluent in either of the last two."

Before we can go any further, the door to the exam room opens and the head proctor starts waving us in.

"Hey, Diggory?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know if my own… ah... _personal history_ with the bastard is colouring my view of the facts but…" I scratch the back of my head. "Didn't the attacks stop right around the time Roy- Er- Professor Lockhart did a runner?"

 **-Hogwarts - Charms Classroom: Another Trivial Exam Later-**

"So," I glance up from the stack of forms involved in signing up for the Junior Dueler's League. "What questions from your colleagues do you have for me today?"

Flitwick smiles. "You noticed." He seems unconcerned, happy even, that I've called him out on their game.

"Noticed what? That the portraits' eyes follow me everywhere I go in the castle?" I shrug. "That you're using this time we spend working through these forms to conduct the world's least formal interrogation?" I roll my eyes. "Or that Professor Dumbledore is over in the corner hiding under a disillusionment charm?" I very carefully forgo indicating any particular corner. Especially important because I'm either joking or 'just guessing' depending on if the is old goat is actually there or not.

Flitwick looks at me and hums noncommittally. "One might say you sound paranoid." He's also rather pointedly not looking anywhere unusual in the room I guess… hmmm… no. I don't think that counts as evidence either way.

I finally pause my writing to offer the goblinoid professor a flat stare. "A wise wizard once said that just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't an invisible demon about to rip your face off." I smile, rolling my eyes. "Now, I may not take it that far but I do do the reading. I'm not sure it counts as _paranoia_ when there's plenty of documentation available in the ministry's _public_ records regarding how just many partisans from the losing side of that nasty civil war you lot fought back in the seventies managed to... _escape justice_."

"Shouldn't you be spending your time preparing for your OWLS, and not ransacking the Department of Magical Records?"

I shove as much indolent teenager as I can fake into a resounding, "meh," before I bother looking up from my paperwork. "I haven't had any trouble with them yet, a fact most likely related to those intense feelings of deja vu I experience when I take them."

"Deja vu?" A slight frown creases his face. "Really?"

"Mmm-Hmmm," I nod. "Not so surprising I suppose given that I can recall a number of Roy's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes from Roy's point of view. He did, I believe, pass his OWLS." If only barely. I shrug. "Still, it is a mite frustrating when the pieces Roy stitched together in my head mismatch… You recall how I mentioned that all my components parts seemed to share a surprising degree of distaste for Potions as a subject? I can also recall taking, and not enjoying, classes on what the muggle sciences call Organic Chemistry. I even 'remember' taking the classes with a good friend of mine, yet I can't seem to recall a single thing about the girl, or even the college I'm supposed to have attended. All I get for my efforts is a splitting migraine. Yet I do recall being joking distraught over the discovery that the professor was a _Yankees_ fan. Granted, I don't currently seem to be able to fathom why anyone should care so deeply about something so plebian as _baseball_." I blink, offering Flitwick a puzzled frown. "I seem to have wandered a fair ways off topic. The point I intended to make, was that one could easily conclude the folks in charge are… up to no good."

"I… see… so you think Dumbledore is…" I don't even bother suppressing the derisive snort

"Nah," I wave my hand dismissively. "Though I find it fascinating that your mind went there so readily." This time I do allow myself a cheeky grin at Flitwick's amused glower. "Even if he's nominally in charge of the them, isn't painting one man with the sins of the entire Wizengamot a bit much, Professor? I think it's far more likely that power corrupts, and Lucy was able to use that to buy himself and his fellow insurrectionists amnesty. The why here is far less important than the end result. That being a large number of murderous wankers with a grudge against my cousin roaming free." I hold up some of the paperwork, waving it about. "All of which really strikes me as yet one more reason not to take my ability to duel effectively for granted. I don't suppose you have any idea what I'm supposed to put down for place of birth if even The Ministry hasn't the foggiest?"

My only response is a loud crashing noise followed by laughter. Looking up, I note that Flitwick seems to have fallen off his tower of books.

Something

I've said clearly amused him greatly.

 **-Hogwarts - Great Hall : Breakfast - Day 4 of Exams-**

Hermione was late for breakfast today. I mean… sure, the Twins didn't show up either, but they, at least, have detention as an excuse.

I'm actually not sure what I find stranger, that she's late, or the fact that I noticed immediately.

Strike that, the strangest part is definitely the bit where, five minutes later, I'm got to watch her manhandle a sleepy Ron and Harry into their seats. Also, there's the way she's practically vibrating in place with excitement. That's strange too. Not at first glance, she gets like that a lot, sometimes even just from knowing the answer to a question in class, but the sheer… intensity... of it this morning is… alarming.

It also puts me in the unfortunate position of sharing a moment with Ronald Weasley of all people, as I'm forced to point at him and nod in agreement after he asked the all important question: "Now can you tell us what's so important you had to drag us out of bed?"

"I wrote to my parents," was not the answer either of us were looking for. Hence the moment sharing as Ron and I stare at each other in mutual bafflement. Harry seems content to slouch forward and looks to be debating whether or not falling asleep at the table would be worth braving the Wrath of Granger.

"...And..?" I try, as much to distract her from my brother as to get answers.

"They said-" she pauses, visibly attempting to calm herself. It doesn't help much… her words still come out at a pace generally only ascribed to auctioneers. "You said you didn't know how you and Harry are related, just that, obviously, you are! But then I remembered reading about how biologists could find common ancestors for people. I didn't want to get your hopes up until I was sure, so I wrote my parents and they found a company that you can send a saliva sample to and they can tell you how far back your common ancestor was. It's not perfect, so you might only get an answer like 'you match on 37 markers so the probability for a common ancestor in the last 3 generations is 50% and 95% for the last 7 generations,' but that would give you a place to start right?"

"Ummm…" I stall. There's apparently a massive downside to having random gaps in your knowledge of muggle science when crafting a lie. "That's…" Still, it's not like I can think of a valid reason not to be super excited about this. "Amazing!"

Albus looks fucking thrilled with himself. I'm sure this is all his doing. Somehow.

And things were going so well too.


	11. Fringe Magic

**Part 10 - Fringe Magic**

 **\- Hogwarts - Great Hall : (Friday) Morning - Day 5 of the Department of Magical Education's Plot to Bore Me to Death-**

I drum my fingers on the little booklet Hermione's parents sent her.

Something is wrong, and I mean that quite aside from my having been so completely out maneuvered by a thirteen year old girl. By bloody accident.

Something about this has the hairs on the back of my neck tingling, as if debating whether they're supposed to stand up or not. In this particular case, something being wrong about this situation actually gives me hope. I may yet be able to escape this horrific plot to undo all my hard work.

I look over at Harry, who is at least no longer trying to go back to sleep, and then back at the booklet.

Whatever it is that's bothering me continues stubbornly refusing to reveal itself, and Hermione is beginning to fidget, so I slide the booklet over to Harry and open with the more banal of my thoughts on the issue. "This is… is a fair bit of money." It won't shut the line of reasoning down entirely, but has the benefit of being completely reasonable. I _don't_ have that much money. Actually, now that I think on it, even with eating at Hogwarts and the DMLE putting me up in the Leaky Cauldron I'm running pretty low on funds.

At my mention of the cost, Harry's eyebrows start to climb their way up his forehead as he picks up the booklet. He might have that much stashed away in his vault, but he certainly doesn't have that kind of money to spare.

Hmmm…

I look over at Hermione. "You said they're based out of London?"

Vigorous head nodding. "They're actually only a few streets over from my parents' practice. My mom walked over during lunch and picked up the packet for us."

Hmmm… no. As it turns out, their information booklet's impossibly fast delivery speed was not what bothered me about this situation. It probably should have, but it seems that I readily expect, if only subconsciously, that Hermione will casually ignore such pedestrian concerns as the sluggishness of muggle post.

Blasted Muggle, I'm really going to have to keep an eye on that. The girl doesn't have a time turner yet.

"I'll have to write her a tha...nk… you…"

Wait.

What?

I stare at the back of the booklet for a moment as Harry is reading through it.

John and Anna Bishop?

"You said the company was a family operation? Father and... daughter, was it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"They're _wizards_. Or, well, he is at any rate, so she's _probably_ a witch."

"What?"

"John Bishop. Ravenclaw. Class of… '67... I believe."

"What'd you do? Memorize the year books?" Ron asks me around the rasher of bacon he's shoveling into his mouth.

I stare back at him for a moment, feigning confusion. "You haven't?"

Hermione sighs. " _Ronald_ doesn't believe in reading."

"Ah." I nod, turning back to her and patting her on the shoulder consolingly. "Have you tried telling him about the books with all the pictures and simple words?"

"Oi!"

"I don't know, Tommy, the only books we have like that are Gin's collection of…" Thing One glances pointedly Harry "Yeah... the words cold dead hands come to mind."

"Yeah, got a point there, Fred." Thing Two agrees readily. "I think little Gin-Gin can take Ronnikins."

 **"** **Oi!"** Ron's face has taken on a most impressive shade of red.

"Mmm…" I nod, conceding the point. "I saw ' _little_ Gin-Gin' terrorizing a third year a few days back." All three Weasley brothers pause at that, before glancing at each other and shrugging. Having no more interest than they do in pursuing the tangent further, I sigh theatrically and turn to Ron. "No. I didn't _memorize the year books._ " The frown on Hermione's face at that statement is slightly alarming. She didn't think I was serious, did she? Ye gods. Somebody get that girl another hobby. "That would be _insane_. Mr. Bishop made the papers recently. Some sort of new discovery in the field of blood magics… or… some… thing... Oh that's cheating! I love it. I wonder if the packets they give to wizards have better price points?"

I don't love it. In fact I think I might legitimately hate it. As annoying as it would have been to slap a tracking charm on the vial with my blood in it and imperio the muggle biologists, doing the same to a team of wizard researchers is a bit more daunting. Not insurmountably so, sure, but… that's not to mention that I imagine the test results will be far more accurate, which is the opposite of helpful.

"Ah, perhaps-"

"Gah!" I'm only barely able to restrain myself from jumping up out of my seat as Albus suddenly joins the conversation from directly behind me. I don't quite manage to avoid flailing about as a result of forcibly aborting my instincts. Merlin's pants, I only took my eyes off the old goat for a second at the worst. Maybe two. People his age should not be able to move that fast.

Albus, _of course_ , just smiles serenely down at me as I whip my head around. "My apologies, Mr. Winters. I didn't mean to startle you."

Oh, I'm _sure_ you didn't. "It's fine." I clutch a hand to my chest and force a deep breath. "People really make far too big a deal out of heart attacks anyway. What was it you were you going to say?"

"Well, I couldn't help but overhear…"

Well of course you couldn't, that's the whole bloody point of listening charms, isn't it? "Oh. I'm sorry, Sir. I could throw a privacy charm around us if we're being too loud?"

"That's quite alright. I daresay the show has been quite entertaining. I just thought I might offer to speak to John and Anna? I do believe Anna only graduated a few years ago, back before young Harry here started." He nods at my little brother, obnoxious eye twinkles set full force. "And while Mr. Bishop hasn't been a student here for quite some time, I daresay he may still remember who I am. Perhaps they could see their way into doing their old Headmaster a small favor."

"Ah. Thank you, Sir. I wouldn't want you to put yourself out-"

"Think nothing of it." He waves me off. "I'm already expected in London this evening for a minor Wizengamot meeting."

Those hairs on the back of my neck have made their decision, clearly distraught over this recent turn of events.

"Well in that case, Sir, I don't suppose that I could catch a lift to the ministry with you? Madam Bones asked me to check in at the DMLE if anything else pertinent to the case occured to me."

"Something has, I take it?"

I shrug ambivalently. "I don't know. I'm hardly an auror, Sir, but Professor Flitwick-" And I'm quite certain he's already told you this himself. "-seems to be of the mind that my compulsively referring to Mr. Malfoy as _Lucy_ -" I can hear the Twins valiant struggles not to lose it behind me. They manage to last almost a whole half a second before their sniggering loudly provides me with ample excuse to raise my voice enough so the whole hall can listen in. "-even in my own head might indicate that Roy- er. _Professor Lockhart_ \- had a much closer relationship with the man than previously thought?" I smile politely, as though I haven't just reminded Albus that he hired a now alleged… Hmmm… what have I managed to accuse him of so far? Kidnapping, Unlawful Obliviation, Mass Petrification (and of children, no less!), and now Terrorism and Treason, if only by association- Or at least I think that's what they charged Death Eaters with after the war. I've been avoiding digging too deep into that until I see if Sirius Black still manages his daring escape this summer. Once my cousin is 'imperilled' by the escaped loon, I'll have all the excuses I could want to start ransacking the Ministry's Department of Records more thoroughly.

Wait.

Why is Albus smiling?

"That works out marvelously then. I was actually hoping that you both might come with me, the sooner we begin the sooner we finish after all."

Glancing at Harry's admiring expression as he looks up at Albus, I suddenly find myself wondering if it wouldn't be worth tipping the meddlesome goat off about the Gaunt Family Estate and letting our other brother deal with him. But no, the pamphlet says I have three to five weeks before I need to attempt anything so drastic.

 **\- An OWL, A Floo Trip, And An Attempt by Harry to Take Me Out At The Knees Later -  
**

I keep a hand on Harry's shoulder as we follow Albus into what looks like fairly standard muggle clinic. It even has the various charts and informative posters cluttering up the walls, in this case attempting to convey the basic concepts of genetics in layman's terms.

The only real tip off that anything about it is out of the ordinary is when the girl who emerges to answer the bell smiles with genuine warmth, instead of calling the police, upon seeing the travesty Albus managed to make out of what was once a proper business suit. It's like the man is categorically incapable dressing in anything that isn't quite so very… _Albus_.

Thankfully, Harry's blind admiration for the man only goes so far; he let me be the one to transfigure his ill fitting muggle attire- hand-me-downs from Dudley I'd imagine- into a muggle boarding school uniform. I got an odd look that promised questions later when he noticed the matching crests on our uniforms indicated we attended 'Saint Brutus's Academy for the Gifted' but that was alright. It'd be a shame to have taken the train all the way to Little Whinging for nothing if I couldn't find a proper way to convey my distaste for what I'd 'discovered' there.

"Welcome to WAMBA La...bs- Professor!" The girl, Anna Bishop at a guess, seems startled as she realizes that the suit is not just similar to something her old headmaster might have worn. A half second behind that realization she starts fidgeting; swiping a stray hairs back under her Manchester United hat, and trying fruitlessly to remove the slight smudge from her face. Looking like she feels under-dressed is something of a remarkable feat for a girl wearing a lab coat, even one with a few stains I suspect may have proven impervious to cleaning charms. Anna Bishop somehow manages it. "What- Ah. What can I do for you?"

"Miss Bishop, I haven't been your professor for a few years now. Like a great many generations before you, I think you'll have to live with simply calling me Albus now." Yeah. _That'll_ happen. Pull the other one, Albus. The sheep of the world will start call mother by name again long before they stop calling you professor.

"Right." She nods distractedly, giving that smudge on her face one last go. "Of course, Professor." Giving it up as a lost cause she visibly forces her arms back down to her sides and smiles nervously. "What brings you here today?"

I half expect Albus to do something inane like say 'the floo' or 'our feet' but fortunately he restrains himself to sighing while looking amused. "One of Hogwarts' young students came across your brochure, and once we recognized your and your father's name on the back, I thought it best if we came to see you in person. You see, the young Messrs Potter and Winters here have reason to believe they may be related. I had hoped to see if you and your father might be able to shed some light on this for us?"

At the mention of her work, she stops fidgeting; almost as if a switch was flipped. Her eyes light up with that inner fire that you only see in fanatics and the insane. "Potter?" Anna tilts her head as she looks at Harry and me, lost in thought for a moment before suddenly snapping her fingers. "You're Harry Potter!"

"Umm… yes?" My brother seems to reflexively try to shrink back at the increased scrutiny, stopped only by my already occupying the space right behind him. Damnable modesty. I still haven't the foggiest how I'm going to fix that.

"And you-" Her freakishly intense gaze swings my way, forcing me to reevaluate my brother's actions. Exposure to Mother's pet Bellatrix may have inoculated me against such lesser forms of crazy, but even I have to admit that Anna Bishop is a bit much. "-think you're related to him? I suppose it's possible, the Potters did intermix with some of the more prolific families."

"Actually…" I glance over at Albus, who still seems amused and perfectly willing to leave me to explain myself. Seeing no reason to fix a system that isn't broken I pull out my favorite Daily Prophet article and hold it out to her. "I think I'm on the other side of the family tree."

She takes the paper, staring down at it sadly for a moment. "I heard about this. Dreadful business what they're trying to do." She shakes her head ruefully and smiles sadly at Harry. "Your mum was no more a dark witch than I'm a newt."

I give Harry a chance to nod before continuing. "Obviously... They did manage to get one thing right though; parseltongue runs through family lines."

"Oh?" She blinks. " _Oh!_ " She points back and forth from me to Harry as she start practically vibrating in place. "This is _wonderful!_ This could help our research so much. You have no idea."

"She's not kidding about that last part." Harry groans quietly beside me.

Anna suddenly slaps her hand to her forehead. "We have to tell Father, he'll be so excited!" And… she's gone. Back through the door she first appeared through at a dead sprint.

"Yeah," I lean to the side and whisper quietly as we start to follow after her. "She remind you of anyone?"

"Huh? Who would- ...oh."

"Yeah." I nudge him through the door, following along behind him. Looking around at the various muggle looking machines, at least one of which is likely responsible for the dull rumbling noise that's making it hard to tell exactly what Anna is telling her Father on the other side of the- I assume magically expanded given the price of London real estate.- room. The looking and pointing in our direction and general level of… enthusiasm… on display gives me a good guess as to the general topic though even if I can only hear one word in ten. "You do realize that Miss Granger will murder us if we don't take notes, right?"


	12. Tom and the Badgers

**Part 11 - Tom and the Badgers**

\- Hogwarts - Library : Saturday Morning-

"How did I let you talk me into this again?" I ask, after setting up a muffliato charm to cover the entire corner of the library, as starting a fight with Madam Pince seems rather counterproductive.

Diggory mock glares at me from his position at the table full of Badger fifth years. "You volunteered."

"Ye gads! What could have possibly have possessed me to do that!?"

"I think you said it'd be, and I quote, hilarious to watch the villagers struggle to weigh their bigotry against their desire to pass their OWLs."

"Hmmm…" I tap my chin and nod agreeably as the villagers in question begin to look agitated. Apparently having one of their own, their esteemed prefect no less, tacitly agree with my assessment isn't sitting well with them. "I think you might be right. That _does_ sound like me. Alright, class, before we get started, since even I won't be able to cover five years of material before the Defense OWL on Monday: does anyone have any specific points they'd like to try and cover or should I just go for a broad overview?" I gesture at my syllabus.

"Uh, yeah, I've got a question." A girl, Miss Selwyn's friend… Imogen..? Yes. Imogen something or other, I think that's it, she starts to raise her hand but then just points. "How the hell- what is that?"

I frown at the girl. She seems to pointing to, "...a syllabus?" I'm actually rather proud of it. Not only does it have every topic I can recall from the Defense OWLs in '43, it also has a smattering of topics from last year's topics mixed in courtesy of one Percival Weasley. The twins were quite distraught when I commented on Percy having his uses, but they got over it quickly enough when I pointed out that they were only one batch of polyjuice potion away from being able to induct Mr. Jordan into the Weasley Triplets Club. I suspect I may regret that some day but my only other idea for distracting them was stuffing glitter into howlers and I'm quite certain that would come back to haunt me.

My reminiscence is cut short by Imogen's somewhat strangled cry, "It's on fire!"

"Hmmm? Oh, that." I roll my eyes. "Flagrate Charm." Does _no one_ read anymore? Merlin, I found that spell as a first year. "If the lack of violent hexes coming from our friendly neighborhood librarian wasn't a big enough tip off, it's perfectly harmless. The air gets slightly warmer after a while but..." I draw a smiley face in the air and hold my bare hand in it for a moment, before dissipating it. "Nothing to be alarmed about." I shrug. "Now, I'm not sure I'd call it _practical_ , but I've always enjoyed the aesthetics. Or, at least, I remember enjoying the aesthetics." I frown pointedly before shrugging again and flashing an obviously forced smile at the class. "It has as much in common with basic illusions and glamours as it does a proper fire charm, and like all illusion work it takes a fair bit of mental finesse to achieve anything but the most basic of motions without the whole thing getting horrifically distorted." Seeing a lack of comprehension in the majority of my audience, I hold my wand up and call up a rough image of a Badger. Concentrating on what I want it to do for a moment, my quickly drawn fire-badger stands up and looks around before waving at the class. "Even with a good deal of practice-" I point at the now sort of warped looking spots. "-you can see how I lost cohesion on the tail end here while I was focused the face and forearms. There's a reason even that massive anti-muggle illusion you people have covering Hogwarts' grounds is a purely static image."

A muttered "FlAy-GrAte" and a brief flare of light is my only warning before the mass of Hufflepuffs all suddenly lurch back away from the table as if scalded.

Dragging my hand down my face, I sigh. "Right. It's also probably worth mentioning that while the Flagrate Charm is harmless, it is still a distant derivative of the Flagrante Curse." I gesture idly at the table, which is slowly losing it's new angry glow. "Miscasts, for reasons that are still a mystery even to me, seem to want to revert to the original even when the wizard mispronouncing the spell has no knowledge of said curse and no fathomable reason to expect a result involving being burned by the affected object. _This_ -" I crouch down, bringing the table to eye level and work through a few basic diagnostic charms. "-is actually fairly mild considering how badly you butchered the pronunciation, and it seems to be temporary. I expect your seats will be safe in a moment. I suggest we spend the time being thankful that you aren't that housemate of my cousin's- a Mr. Finnigan I believe it was. He apparently has something of a... flair... for fire related mishaps and would no doubt have somehow managed to see us all consumed in _Fiendfyre_." He also has a reputation that precedes him apparently, given the number of amused faces nodding in agreement with my assessment as I stand up and step back.

"See..?" I only manage to catch Diggory's low whisper because of the listening charm I left anchored to the table

" _Fine_." I hear Miss Selwyn bite out, nearly hissing, in response. "He knows what he's doing under all that crazy."

"Told you."

" _He's still an arse_."

"Well we haven't exactly been pleasant to his cousin these past few months either..."

Glancing back I spot Diggory having a staring contest with Miss Selwyn. "Diggory, _stop that_. We've talked about this."

"Huh?" He interrupts his contest to turn and blink at me. Gratifyingly, Miss Selwyn looks equally lost. "We- what?"

"You're being smug, rubbing people's noses in their foolishness. That's _my_ job. Unlike you, I actually _enjoy_ pointing out how patently ridiculous believing that _a twelve year old_ could petrify people is." Merlin, it took me until I was almost sixteen and I'm a genius. " _You_ are supposed to be the perfectly quintessential hufflepuff so as to better shame your fellow badgers when they fail to live up your shining example of the power of friendship or whatever." Not mention making a better metaphorical shield versus suspicion. I _obviously_ can't be the reincarnation of The Dark Lord if I willingly hang out with Mr. Hufflepuff himself now can I?

Said obnoxiously all-american- _gah!_ I've clearly been leaning on that ghastly accent for too long if the Blasted Muggle's colonialisms are infecting my thoughts. _The obnoxiously perfect Hufflepuff_ , looking slightly exasperated, rolls his eyes at me. He seems about ready to protest before just shaking his head and visibly deciding to change the subject. "Can you show us how the spell is supposed to be cast?"

I shrug. "Alright, I guess it's as good a warm up exercise as any." I point my wand to the side. "Flah-Grah-TAy." The phonetic spelling appearing next me as I force myself to verbalize the spell for the first time in ages. 'FlAy-grAte,' honestly. "There's no wand motion, but when you're starting out it's usually easier if you draw the shape you want. Why doesn't everyone go ahead and write their names above their heads so I can stop thinking of you all as variations of 'Blondie Badger' and 'Suspiciously Well Tanned For Scotland Badger,' particularly as that last one is quite the mouthful even just in my own head."

Hmmm… Now that I think about it, I might make this step a standard part of any classes or study sessions I teach.

"No, not like that. You have to draw them so that I can read them. I'm the one-" I sigh. "I assume you can all remember _your own_ names."

 _...Hufflepuffs..._

 **\- A Short While Later -**

"...which is what _really_ makes them such a blasted nuisance to deal with. So yes, if you find any of the damned things in your yard, send an owl off to that uncle or cousin most of you prefer not to admit you all have and get them to _Fiendfyre_ everything within ten feet of the infestation to cinders. It's the only way to be sure and you do not want to miss any of it or you'll have to start the whole process over a month later. Now, obviously, you can't write any of that down on your OWL since, while it turns out Fiendfyre isn't _technically_ illegal, and don't ask me why not, it is _quite dangerous_ and generally not something The Ministry wants a bunch of _children_ dicking around with. So-" I pause as someone trips the wardline.

Turning around, I find a Ravenclaw standing just inside the privacy bubble. He's looking around curiously, but seems like he's trying to force himself to be nonchalant. "'Lo, Ced."

Diggory turns around and waves at our new arrival. "Hey, Roger." Ah. This must be Mr. Davies then.

Mr. Davies points broadly at our setup with a piece of paper. "This a private party, or can anyone join in?" He ends the sweeping gesture with a nod in my direction and I fight back a frown. Mr. Davies leaks information almost as badly as my brother, but without youth as an excuse. In just the short time before his gaze swivels back to Diggory I get a brief impression of a sense of purpose and… a paper airplane? What? Okay. The paper he's holding is folded... Yes. Okay, there's our paper airplane, after which he came here deliberately….

A seat gets kicked out from the table towards him. "Have a seat. The more the merrier." Diggory seems to be trying to match Mr. Davies' forced nonchalance, but still seems far too pleased with himself, considering he's inviting a spy into our midst.

 _This_ is the issue working with Hufflepuffs. They're too damned nice to live-

Wait...

Paper airplane?

I was almost assaulted by a swarm of those things in the lift yesterday while visiting Madam Bones. Evidently they've become the current Ministry favorite for sending messages back and forth between workers.

Their forced mannerisms, which I was willing to write off as a byproduct of those inane rivalries over nothing that quidditch seems to generate in the members of the house teams, suddenly seems all the more suspicious. They're playing it cool for their audience, not each other. They're up to something. This bears watching, and possibly hexing.

"Sure." I incline my head. "Diggory, if you could walk him through making his nametag?" I gesture at the various examples of atrocious penmanship hanging in the air above the other Hufflepuffs. "Where was I? Ah yes... "

 **\- A Few Hours Later -**

The bells finish their tolling. "Alright, folks, that's noon thirty. I promised my cousin I would meet him for lunch so I'll see you all- or at least any of you still interested anyway -back here in an hour or so."

Glancing back as I start towards the librarian's desk, I note that I seem to have spawned a new pair of shadows. Shadows that wave at me and seem to expect me to break stride and let them catch up, but who find it amusing for some reason when I don't.

They manage to catch up as I'm in the midst of letting Madam Pince know that we're breaking for lunch, but would be back to take care of the mess. That she accepts this with only a minimal amount of glaring and unspoken 'or elses' would seem to indicate that project 'Trustworthiness By Association' is working to plan.

"Winters... got a moment?" Diggory continues to look far too happy with himself.

"Sure. If you can manage to both walk and talk at the same time." I nod my head towards the exit and start to head out. "What's on your minds?"

Mr. Davies grins at me. "You don't need verbalize at all do you?"

"Of course not." I offer him my best baffled expression. "Why would I? Wait, is that what you two were gossiping about like a pair of portraits back in the library?"

"Not… exactly..." Davies and Diggory look at each other and smile in a way that's eerily reminiscent of the way Abraxas and Arcturus would look immediately prior to something ' _spontaneously_ ' catching fire. Fortunately, they also respond in a similar fashion to being glared at. "Professor Flitwick mentioned that you're interested in signing up for the summer dueling league?"

 _…_ _Aha!_ Er… what? "Yes? Flitwick seems to think I'm somewhat better than terrible." I bite back a low growl of frustration as we reach the fourth floor landing only to find that the staircases seem to be conspiring against us. Or, more likely, against me personally. This isn't the first time I've wondered if whichever founder came up with this idea wasn't a blood relative of Saint Murphy.

"That's… " Davies makes an abortive hand gesture, "ah… not quite how he put it when he told us to talk to you."

"I'm sure. Though I'm not seeing the connection. Surely you two have parents to sign your forms, I hardly expect you'd need to go the route I did to sign up."

"We do- Or rather don't- I mean… You know the league was started by the Auror Corps, yeah?"

"Well of course. Got the idea from those muggle archery tournaments if I recall correctly. I mean, why else- _oh_." Okay, _that_ would never have occurred to me. How embarrassing. "You _two_ want to enter the _three_ man fire-team competition I take it?"

They start to nod-

" ** _Harry James Potter!_** " Hermione's shout echoes through the halls.

"Damnation. I'm running late. Fire-team sounds good. Talk later. Excuse me." Abandoning all pretext of waiting for the stairs to swing back around, I vault over the railing and let myself drop the four floors separating me from the Great Hall.


	13. Dropping by For Lunch

**Part 12 - Dropping by For Lunch**

 **\- Hogwarts - Great Hall : Lunchtime - Saturday -**

Taking a moment to steady myself after having landed somewhat crooked, I conclude that horizontal maneuvering is still not my friend. I think I may have only just barely avoided twisting my ankle with that last stumble. That'd have been irritating. Straightening up, and doing my best to smooth now my now disheveled robes, I tap Hermione on the shoulder. "Er… Miss Granger, if I may? I'm afraid this whole situation may indeed be my fault."

Hermione, hands remaining firmly planted on her hips, swings around to look at me. Despite her angry expression, I sense more hurt and feelings of abandonment than anything else as she stares back at me. A point seemingly lost on my brother and his pet Weasley as they sag in relief the moment they're freed from her gaze attack. With her focus on me now, I make a show of struggling with my tie- it having managed to free itself to assault my face during the descent -and am rewarded for my theatrics with a slight frown.

Meanwhile, my brother at least seems to recognize that my having joined them from _above_ is unusual; he keeps glancing upwards with a puzzled expression as he nudges Ron with his elbow; another cause as lost as my tie, given that Ron has made eye contact with food. Ignoring them for now, and giving up on my tie as well, I put my hands up placatingly and address Hermione, fortunately now more confused than angry. "My cousin," I gesture at Harry, "who I don't doubt you've noticed is rather well known for a great many things… None of which, you'll note, are an interest in any purely academic pursuits." I nod my head in consoling agreement with her thoughts on this being a tragic state of affairs. "He felt that he... " I trail off and tilt my head to look at Harry around her head. "What was that rather quaint way you put it? That you would be 'utter pants' at explaining even half of what Miss Bishop said?"

I wait for Harry to nod, and for Hermione to give me a half smile of acknowledgement, before continuing. "Right. So, in the midst of offering to help recount the tale, I _may_ have accidentally suggested to him that the only way he'd escape explaining anything at all would be to avoid seeing you prior to my joining you all for lunch. I didn't expect him to actually attempt it." I was, however, curious if he would. Barely a week in and it would seem that he already takes my advice to heart. I'm not sure I can adequately describe how that makes me feel. "Let alone _manage to do it_. Honestly, I expected that at most he'd try to go with plan C where he was supposed to fling your internship papers at you as a distraction and then run away. Er… He didn't actually… oh my..."

I tilt my head to the side and watch as an oddly confused look that I can't explain flickers crosses Hermione's face. "Internship papers?" She asks, her voice taking on an odd sort of lilt by the end as she turns to stare at Harry and Ron. It's a pity that she's the hardest to read of the three of them, harder even than Mr. Davies. Come to think of it though, I'd wager that says more about Mr. Davies than it does Hermione.

Not impossible though. Hmmm… I'm fairly confident she knows what an internship is. I managed to catch the flicker of recognition before she turned away from me. But there was also anger and… water..? bundled up with it. I'm not really sure what to make of that, so I just keep my smile fixed firmly on my face and plow forward. "Harry and I thought, after seeing the place and realizing how much Miss Bishop struck each of us as a sort of grown up version of you, that you might have an interest in seeing what they do _from the inside_ so to speak."

Not being able to see her eyes, I don't really have anything to go off of when she doesn't visibly react and instead just stares at my brother.

I glance over at him, hoping for a clue, but instead see him starting to look increasingly nervous again. "Uhh… Did I miss something?"

Hermione produces a wadded up ball of soggy paper from her bag and thrusts it in the boys' general direction. "You-" her rant gets a bit inarticulate in the middle here, but I'm fairly certain the last words were, " _Internship Papers!?_ "

Judging from the glare now being swung 'round my way, I rather doubt bursting into uncontrolled laughter was the response she was going for with her little tirade. I hold up a finger as I try to stop myself. "I- You thought- They-" Giving it up as a lost cause, I wave myself off and just reach into my bookbag, producing a fresh copy of said internship paperwork and handing it over. "Here you go." It's another moment yet before I can manage further complete sentences to answer her unspoken but obvious question. "I Gemino'd a spare just in case."

She sighs sadly, "Gemino copies are only temporary."

"I know…" Seriously? What does she take me for? "-that's why I gave those to him and kept the originals just in case."

"Oh." She takes the paperwork from me and sits down primly to start reading through it.

"I take it that in whatever excitement got them soaked, he forgot the part where he was supposed to tell you that I'd be here to explain further?"

The looks of relief on Ron's and Harry's faces when Hermione nods calmly and then smiles at me only lasts about as long as it takes for them to realize that she's studiously ignoring their existence.

By spontaneous mutual agreement, it's decided that this is would be a wonderful time for all of us to shrug and start eating quietly.

It takes a long moment, but Hermione eventually looks up from the paperwork with a puzzled frown. "I'm 13."

I blink, glancing at my brother to make sure he looks as lost as I feel. "...Yes? Folks like Harry and Mr. Longbottom aside, that does tend to happen to most second years eventually."

Setting the paperwork down and turning to face me, Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'm 13. I can't do an internship, I'm not legally allowed to work."

"Oh." I wave my hand dismissively. "It's fine. You'd be filing it with the Ministry of Magic." Now it's her turn to look confused while I roll my eyes. "Okay, I have to ask: What exactly, in the past two years since you've discovered the wizarding world, was it that's given you the impression that they would give a flying- er… That they would care about muggle employment regulations?"

"But that's-"

"THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"

"Why hello to you too, Diggory. I see you and Mr. Davies managed to catch up."

"You jumped off the fourth floor landing!"

"...Yes? I told you, I-"

"You _WHAT!?_ "

I turn around to glance back at Hermione's now horrified expression. People really need to all stand on one side of me if they're going to accost me like this. "I was running late."

" _You're insane!_ "

"You're not the first to think so, but you two really have no room to talk. You both play Quidditch; zipping about like loons far higher than I was when I jumped."

"On _brooms!_ "

"In what universe is that better!? Brooms fail all the time and then where would you be?" I fight back flashes of my first flying lesson.

"So you decided to cut out the middleman and leap to your- wait. _How_ are you fine?"

I plaster my best 'the fuck is wrong with you' expression onto my face and take a moment to aim it at all of them in turn. "Hold up... are you lot actually trying to tell me that you people fly around like that and you don't know how to catch yourselves if you fall off?" I slump myself forward onto the table and stare grumpily at Harry. " _$$You are so not allowed to fly again until we fix that.$$_ "

I grin at Ron's apparently involuntary shudder before returning my focus to Messrs. Diggory and Davies. They taken a moment to confer with each other, look at me curiously, and then repeat the process a few more times. I can see the gears turning in their minds. It's Hermione, however, that gives voice to what they're both thinking, "...but you can't 'arresto momentum' yourself."

"...Really..? Are you all sure about that?" I grin as everyone's faces get a bit more uncertain, though Ron just shrugs it off and continues eating. He's clearly grown accustomed to the idea of his dining companions being 'mental.' "Also, why am I not surprised you know that spell. I don't suppose you made a point of learning it after a certain _someone_ -" I stare balefully at my near-suicidal brother "-proved prone to _falling off his sodding_ _ **broom**_ _?_ "

I take a moment to commiserate silently with Hermione over the idiocy of Quidditch players everywhere before sighing and letting disappointment creep into my expression and voice as I let myself slump forward. "When did magic stop being _magical_ for you Brits?" Shifting again, I gaze heavenward; My cheek resting on my fist, hamming up for all I'm worth. "Now it's all 'You _can't_ do that.' Or 'that _won't_ work.' Or... my personal favorite; 'that's _not possible_.' It's…bloody _magic!_ _Doing the impossible is the whole sodding point!_ Why else would we bother putting up with it, the obnoxiously picky bi- Er, you know what I mean." Hermione clearly does; she whacks me on my shoulder despite my self-censoring. I glare back at her for a split second before carrying on. "Say the right words, wiggle your wand just the right way, and reality bows to your will! If I can lie to a desk so hard that even it starts to think it's a pig, or step backwards in time without the earth vanishing out from beneath my feet, then why shouldn't I be able to arresto my own momentum."

Diggory and Davies glance at each other again and promptly claim the seats next to me. "So you found a way to do it?"

"Oh, no. Don't be ridiculous."

"But-"

I hold up a hand to stop him. "Waste of time." I wave dismissively. "Learning to fly under my own power, however badly, seemed like a far more useful skill to work on."

"You can fly!?"

I groan. There's no way that question ends well.

 **\- After Everyone Present** ** _Personally_** **Verifies That Flying is** ** _Not_** **Something I Can Teach, Particularly While Trying to Eat Lunch -**

"Now, in the interest of keeping Miss Granger from becoming the… Hmmm, I believe it would be third girl ever... to spontaneously explode from repressed curiosity-" Said girl cuffs me on the shoulder. "Alright, so they have this theory that… erm… hold on." Looking around, the great hall is hardly full, but it's not nearly as empty as it was when I first got here. Recalling that my first thought upon hearing their idea concerned the sheer number of purebloods that would likely try to arrange _accidents_ for the both of them if word got out; I take the time to put up a muffliato charm before continuing. "They _think_ that it _might_ be _possible_ that muggleborns are all actually the descendants of squibs."

Ron looks at me over his second sandwich, "So?"

"So?" Hermione starts vibrating in her seat again. I remember it being theorized in the memoirs that her hair magically gained volume as she got more angry or excited, but I'm beginning to think it's just a side effect of being shaken so vigorously. "So!? That would mean that Malfoy's vaunted blood purity is nothing but a-"

I clear my throat pointedly. "Actually... I think you're being a bit optimistic there."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't see the folks that coined the phrase 'Better dead than a squib' just suddenly embracing what would be the newly rechristened squib-born."

Harry squints at me, very slowly raising a finger in the universal 'hang on a moment' gesture. "... I don't remember her saying anything about squib-born"

"Well, _obviously_ she didn't call them _that_ , but… and bear with me because I'm not positive I truly grasped all the more nuanced details of the science but, if I got the broad strokes down correctly, I _think_ Miss Bishop was trying to argue that _if_ magic is genetic in the usual muggle sense of the word, then it's also obviously far too complex a mechanism to just spontaneously mutate into existence fully formed. So, it must have come from squibs or… _something_. I don't know. " I shrug. "Honestly, even The Professor looked lost when she started babbling in on about 'repeating sequences' and… I think she called them expressive promoters..? whatever those are…" I hold my hands up about shoulder's width apart. "So…squibs?" I frown, looking at my hands, and turn them so my palms are facing other and raise an eyebrow. "...or maybe it was aliens?" I shake my head, unable to place where that idea came from. "Though… given that we're talking about a force that's known primarily for bending the normally immutable laws of reality over a table and casually violating them on a whim? I'm not positive I buy it anyway. The point I swear I was trying to make eventually though, is that even _if_ they're right… that doesn't mean that the blood purists will _interpret_ that information the way you seem to hope. Not without a fair bit of percussive maintenance anyway."

"Percussive maintenance?"

"Blunt force trauma applied to the head on an ongoing and as needed basis... " Hermione's exasperated expression aside, Ron and Harry glancing at each other in muted bemusement reminds me that I'm dealing with second years. "Just... I don't know… picture Miss Granger here punching Mr. Malfoy in the face repeatedly while lecturing at him and you'll be on the right track."

Finally getting the appropriate response, I wait for the laughter to subside before pointing out the worst bit.

"And that's all assuming that they don't notice that this could mean they were _technically_ right about wizardkind being truly separate and apart from the muggles. Identifiably so even by the muggles own sciences. It might tamp down on the bits about muggleborn 'stealing' their magic, but they could just as easily take it as a cause to double down on their anti-muggle rhetoric as a whole."

The bells begin to toll again, letting me know my hour is up.

"Well," I start to stand up. "I should probably be going now. Got that remedial defense session to teach and all."

"Oh!" Hermione practically bounces to her feet. "Us too! I mean, we can go with you to the library to study."

I raise an eyebrow at the mutinous looks my brother seems wearing. I glare at Weasley; he's a terrible influence. Honestly, I've met door knockers with more curiosity about the world around them. "Miss Granger... do you know how to cast the mobilicorpus charm?"


	14. Choices Choices

**Part 13 - Choices Choices**

 **-Hogwarts - Library : Saturday - After Lunch-**

"I can walk, you know."

My younger brother, as it turns out, is quite good at sulking.

"$$Yes. I'm sure you can. I've even seen you do it on occasion. Your friend Ron also demonstrated remarkable skill with that particular ability when he ran off the very moment he conned Miss Granger into putting him down. I suspect- … Diggory?$$"

"Huh? What does Cedric have to do with it?"

"$$Nothing. He just looks rather put out for some reason.$$" I point down the hall towards the library where said Badger is visible, rubbing his face in worry as he converses quietly with an irritated looking Madam Pince at the front desk. "$$Going back to Hermione though, it strikes me that she would likely think it was strange- if she ever had cause to consider it at all- that a librarian, whose entire life is just books, would spend so much of that life in a state of near perpetual annoyance.$$"

"Right… Just books. That's all." My brother rolls his eyes at me. "Annoying older students never go into the library while floating their younger cousins along beside them against their will."

"$$Okay. That's fair.$$" I nod, conceding the point. "$$But let's go see what's got Diggory's panties in a bunch anyway.$$"

"Do I have a choice?"

"$$Of course.$$"

 _"_ _...Really?"_

"$$Oh Merlin! You're actually going to make me do it, aren't you?$$"

"Huh? Do what?"

"$$Quote He-of-the-entirely-too-many-middle-names.$$" Leaning against the door frame just outside the library since this could take a while, I sigh mournfully and roll my eyes at Harry's bemused expression. "$$You _always_ have a choice, Harry. Sometimes our options may be limited by things outside our control, but it's our choices in life, often in spite of those limitations, that define who we are. Ungh... Even I think I sound like a prat trying to give that speech. Blech. Don't worry though, there'll still be a quiz over the summer holidays. Just because it makes me feel like a prat is no excuse to stunt your education.$$" Granted, I'll have to wait until Mr. Black gets up off his lazy ass and finally makes his bloody escape before we can properly move from theory to practical application. Ah well.

"...Okay… So can I _choose_ to have you put me down?"

"$$I suppose you could…$$" I tilt my head and smile, wondering briefly if I should worry that Harry immediately sighs and looks towards the heavens when I do; I seem to have achieved exasperating old person status. "$$Remember though, that _my_ actions are one of those limiting factors that are outside of your control. Hmmm… Tell you what though, I'll put you down if you can prove that you actually understood what we were talking about before Mister Weasley made his break for it.$$"

My brother glares at me, looking mutinous again. "There is no Good or Evil, only Power and those too weak to seek it?"

You did not just quote Mother at me! Comparing me to that- Ungh. How did he even get _that_ from 'Divination is bloody useless.' I ever even mentioned good or evil. Or maybe it was the- Ungh!

Flicking my wand back into its holster before I can do anything rash, I rub at my temples for a moment before I trust myself to answer. Even then I have to pretend to 'accidentally' slip back into English. Taunting Albus by mucking with the portraits' ability to report what I say is one thing, but having having those reports consists of just 'Harry mockingly quoted Voldemort and then Tom looked annoyed' would be a step too far I think. "Okay. First of all, straw manning me was totally uncalled for. There is no need to twist my words until I sound like a bloody muppet. You are better than that." My brother blinks in confusion a few times before grinning at what he probably thinks is an unintentional slight against Voldemort. Taking another deep breath, I continue. "That is not at all what I was saying and you know it."

Harry shrugs, not at all apologetically. "Ron and I were a little busy _planning our escape_ to listen properly."

...And now I have to address a topic I was planning to put off til the summer.

"Sigh…" Harry makes a face indicating that he doesn't approve of my saying such things, but he quoted Mother at me so he can suck it up and deal. "Kids these days." I shake my head ruefully. "We have no respect for our elders. Anyway…." I wave cheerfully to a portrait and switch back over to parseltongue. "$$There's this expression the muggles have about money being like air. That it's not important at all until you don't have any, and then suddenly it seems very important.$$" I shrug expansively. "$$Power is the same way. Power can let you bend the world to your whim, and yet... _by itself_ , you'll find that power isn't actually all that useful. After all, just like with money, you actually can't eat it. What being powerful does, is open those metaphorical doors for you. It just gives you more, and often better, options to choose from when you're making those choices I mentioned earlier. It can also give you better odds of making those choices work out. Like now, you'll often have to contend with the results of what other people choose. You can make no mistakes, choose the right thing, and still lose if you lack the power to back your choices up. That's just how life is. But you also have to remember, and people often seem like they _want_ to forget this, but you can also be as rich or powerful as you like and still lose if you make shit choices. That's also just how life is. Seeing as I seem to have slipped into lecture mode, am I at least making any sense?$$"

"Ummm..?"

Right. I sigh. Gryffindork. Baby steps via blatantly obvious concrete examples it is… Come to think of it, it'd probably be for the best if I stick to basic concepts and familiar terms too. "$$Okay. Sticking with the opening doors metaphor for now: Let's say you're hungry-$$"

Harry covers his face with his hands and sighs. "I mean… What does this have to do with me taking Divination?"

"...Oh." I make a mental note to start verifying everything my brother says before letting him wind me up in the future. "$$So you _were_ listening. In that case, let me just say one last time that Divination Classes are bloody useless.$$"

Harry rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah. I can see how learning to see the future would never be helpful."

"$$Hey now.$$" I mock glare at him before offering up a knowing smile. "$$I never said that. But… Divination is sort of like parseltongue, you either have the gift or you don't. Since you don't, all Hogwart's Divination classes will be able to teach you is how to lie more convincingly while drunk off your ass on cooking Sherry. A useful skill, I'm sure, but one you could learn elsewhere without having to deal with a woman who constantly predicts her own students' deaths.$$" I pause, sighing, and rub my face. "$$Okay, that... came out just a bit more bitter than I meant it to. I'm merely suggesting you base your class choices on more than just which classes Mr. Weasley says will be the easiest.$$"

I pause to smile cheerfully and wave at a passing student that was giving my choice of languages an odd look. They'll get used to it eventually. Or if not, I'm sure I can find a spell to make literal clue-by-four to bludgeon them with.

And now I'm feeling conflicted.

$$Look. It all comes back to both those bits about choices being important but power, or a lack thereof rather, being limiting. Knowledge is a form of power. It's one of my personal favorite forms actually. Not every warning sign is written in English, and not every spell you might want to cast has already been invented. You might one day find yourself in a situation when having chosen to learn something about Ancient Runes and/or Arithmancy would prove more useful.$$"

Harry's expression remains vaguely dubious. Maybe it's time to try a different tack? Given that Draco is nowhere in sight, I suppose that leaves me with option number 3 on the depressingly short list of things that motivate my brother to expend actual effort. Namely, anything that threatens his friends or fellow students. I open up my book bag and pull out my favorite prop. I've been meaning to bring up Miss Skeeter anyway.

"$$Okay, let's try this another way. Would you be surprised if I told you that you probably could have stopped The Daily Prophet from printing these articles?$$"

"Really?"

"$$Of course. You're The-Boy-Who-Lived.$$" I hold up a hand to forestall the inevitable whining about how he's just Harry. "$$Yeah. I know. Wizardkind goes utterly bonkers for hyphens. It's bizarre. I can use Snape's version, The-Bloody-Brat-Who-Just-Won't-Die if you prefer, but either way the point stands. You're famous. Sure, you could just _choose_ to not be famous, but-$$"

"Wait. _What?_ **How!?** "

I plaster on my best 'isn't it obvious' face. "$$Obliviate the entire world so they forget about you.$$" Shrugging theatrically before tapping my chin as if in thought, I open and close my mouth twice and hold up a finger before continuing. "$$Of course you'd have to do it all at once so people couldn't go around reminding each other… and burn those pesky written records. Have you considered simply blowing up the planet? It might be easier.$$"

Harry glares at me. "You could have just said it was impossible."

I hold up a quelling finger. "$$Ah. Ah. No such animal. _Anything_ is possible with enough power and will. At worst some things may simply be impractically expensive, often hideously so. Besides, I was just messing with you. A properly cast fidelius charm could probably do the trick. Temporarily anyway; those things are horrifically fiddly. But I actually was going to suggest you go the route that doesn't run the risk of reality itself forgetting about you. Also known as the 'suck it up, acknowledge that being famous isn't the end of the world, and take steps to manage it' method. That middle step isn't even mandatory.$$"

This idea nets me a flat stare. Being able to blame Roy for something that's actually his fault, in some small part at least, is a touch surreal. Still though, what an utterly useless man for my brother to mentally associate with fame.

"$$Yeah yeah, I know.$$" I roll my eyes at brother's expression of distaste. "$$Reporters are _icky_. I'm certainly not going to suggest we leave you alone in a room with Miss Skeeter, but… if you gave an interview occasionally, then The Prophet's Editor-in-Chief would a least need to weigh how many extra papers printing a malicious article about your mum would sell against how many sales he'd lose in the long run by pissing you off. I'm reasonably confident that he'd rather print an interview with you than this dreck. Even if it did manage to prove the old adage about broken clocks.$$"

Spotting an exhausted looking Hermione slowly making her way towards us, I find the inspiration I need to wrap this up as directly as I can.

"$$Try to think of your fame as being like that thing with the troll everyone talks still about. You know, the one you and your friends apparently tracked down and beat half to death with it's own club according to the Hufflepuffs? The similarities are there. It's ugly, it smells horrible, and you'd just really rather just _nope right the fuck away from it,_ but...$$" I let myself trail off pointedly as I lean in. "$$Just like with the troll, if you don't deal with it, then _someone else_ might get hurt. They may be wielding Quick-Quote-Quills instead of clubs, but are you really willing to let the writers at The Prophet attack your friends if you can stop it? I can't imagine, for instance, that it'll be very long before they notice that Hermione is, in point of fact, _a girl._ $$" I widen my eyes and slap my hands to my cheeks like this is some sort of shocking secret. "$$Witch Weekly will most likely have a whole series of articles on whether she's dating you, or Ron, or both published the very morning after they realize it. Articles full of nonsense quotes by girls like _Pansy Parkinson._ $$" I smile wanly at Harry's obvious irritation for a moment before letting my face go slack and swapping back to English as Hermione gets within hearing range. "Wait, _you_ did notice _that,_ right? I mean..."

"Notice what?" The girl in question asks, wheezing a slight bit and trying to regain her breath from sprinting through the halls. She sags slightly and braces herself against the wall as she reaches us and stops walking.

I plaster on a broad smile go back to resting against the wall, raising an eyebrow as I give Harry a moment to answer.

He doesn't.

I glare at him for good measure, but still get nothing. "SIGH!" I throw my hands in the air. "Come on now, Harry… that was a perfectly set up line you just missed. You were supposed to say, 'Nothing, dear. You're very pretty.'"

Harry eyes Hermione warily. "No thank you, I think I prefer living."

Hermione for her part is trying her damnedest to glare at me while blushing just the slightest bit. She manages to last a full three seconds before she snorts, looks away, and resumes trying to catch her breath. I think it's just an excuse to not look at either of us for a moment.

That settled, I tilt my head and don a politely curious expression and take the opportunity to shift topics while we wait for her to compose herself. "Miss Granger, you appear to be missing something. Where is that young red haired fellow that I usually see you with?"

"I lost him." She waves an arm without looking up. I think it was meant to be a dramatic flourish or something, but in her current state it came out more like she was swatting halfheartedly at a fly. "The Twins grabbed him and vanished behind a statue."

"Huh." I nod. "You know, I was expecting you to be the one to make my point for me. But having it be the Weasleys that demonstrated how knowledge is power wasn't how I thought you'd do it. Then again, I'm told betting against the Twins finding a creative way to cheat is never a good investment."

Hermione takes another gasping breath before looking up at us with a small frown. "...What?"

I shrug. "I was just rehashing that speech I made about the importance of making good choices now so one isn't limited in the future while we waited for you to return since apparently Harry and Ron were too busy conspiring to listen the first time. Losing track of Ron because the Twins knew something we didn't is probably the best capstone I could have asked for, honestly."

"Oh." She turns puppy dog eyes and a hopeful smile towards my brother. "So you'll come study with me?"

Harry glares at me for a moment, but nods. More importantly, he doesn't bolt when I let him drop to the floor and toss him his wand.

I'm still watching them head off to find a table when Diggory taps me on the shoulder.

He looks stressed, running his hand through his hair nervously when I turn to look at him. He does manage to offer up a somewhat brittle smile though for what it's worth. I'll call that progress.

"Yes, Diggory," I sigh. "I do realize I was speaking parseltongue earlier when I was talking with my cousin."

He just blinks at me, broadcasting genuine confusion.

"Oh… So... not that then?" Well, now that that's all he can think about and I'm out of guesses, I may as well just raise an eyebrow and wait him out.

Fortunately, it doesn't take that long. "Right... So… Do you remember when we said the more the merrier?"

"I remember when _you_ said that, yes."

Diggory coughs, nodding his head pointedly to the side as he starts walking back into the library. "Some more people took us up on the offer."

"Of course they did." I roll my eyes and follow after him. "You said it. That alone would have brought out half the girls in-"

"Is that our entire year?"

"Almost. A few of the Slytherins didn't show up since the Gryffindors are here and vice versa. Plus the Ravenclaw Yaxley is still in the Hospital wing."

"Oh. Right." I wince, "I heard about that. She had some sort of allergic reaction during her Herbology OWL, didn't she?"

"Yeah." He glances back at the front desk. "Even still, Madam Pince is taking issue with the noise since there isn't enough room behind the line that spell you used stops sound at."

"Oh." I wave him off. "That's easily fixed."

"You know, you're taking this a lot better than I expected."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not upset?"

"Why would I be upset? With all four houses in tight quarters, I give it ten minutes before I'm able to justify hexing someone for starting a fight in class. Oooh… or maybe I'll practice my human transfiguration? I have been meaning to brush up on that."

Waving cheerfully to Madam Pince on my way by, I start off towards the corner.

"But- Ummm…" I assume Diggory comes to terms with just accepting my brilliance, because he closes his mouth and follows along after me without finishing whatever protest he thought he was going to make. "Oh dear."


	15. Meddlesome Witches

**Part 14 - Meddlesome Witches**

 **\- Hogwarts - Great Hall : Morning - Last Day of Exams (Finally!) -**

 _Miss Donovan,_

 _It turns out that the majority of post owls, despite their magically augmented natures, remain incapable of flying clear across the Atlantic in one go. When sending letters to Europe from the United States the letters are collected at a post station to then be relayed by either larger post owls capable of making the flight or via portkey if a witch or wizard just so happens to be headed the right way. I only mention this so that you can properly appreciate the nuances of my morning , when all three of your increasingly irate Howlers arrived together at breakfast. The resultant cacophony was enough to send almost an entire table's worth of students, known primarily for their willingness to serve as cannon fodder, scurrying for cover. Even more impressive, you managed to make the Potions Professor very nearly grin in amusement at our suffering. This, bear in mind, is a man so consistently grumpy that his own mother named him Severus. I can assure you the man is worthy of all the variant definitions of the word. So, well done that. I'm impressed._

 _Sadly, all three howlers competing with each other also made it somewhat more difficult to sort out just what you were trying to say, so I apologize if this next part makes less sense. As best as I could tell, you appeared to be upset about a number of things but to answer your main point of grievance: Yes, I suppose it was rather rude of me to simply up and vanish off to another continent without so much as saying goodbye. That you then only discovered I was a wizard rather than the muggle you believed me to be is hardly my fault however. As the very article you cited mentions: I was in hiding at the time, not even knowing my own last name, let alone able to share it. Had I been aware that your sister had grown fond enough of me to be worried, then-_

I pause my writing, tapping my quill against my chin. "Then I'd have bloody well applied to teach divination!"

"That doesn't sound like you're very sorry." Hermione sets her Potions textbook down and looks down at my letter from what appears to have become her usual spot one seat to my right.

"Yes, well, that's the hazard of being made to apologize when you don't understand what you've done wrong. Honestly, I still don't see how any of this is my fault. Or even an issue at all in the first place some to think of it. Merlin's pants, it's not like I was sleeping with the girl. I just bought the two of them dinner the one time we bumped into each other in Salem." And since I _am_ a bloody mind reader, I can even say for certain that she wasn't feeling so _very bloody fond_ at dinner. Confused? Yes. Concerned I was going to realize something was 'odd' about her sister? Definitely. Concerned for my well being in that way? Not so much.

Hermione mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, 'Boys!' but otherwise doesn't respond.

"Shush you. Or I'll _accidentally_ forget to mention you and then you'll be out that potential pen pal in the States that we both know is what you're _really_ after here."

"Luna… Nooo… " I can hear Ginny's voice whining in the background behind me as I frown down at the letter that refuses to write itself. It brings a small measure of satisfaction to know that at least somebody seems to be having a similar morning to mine. Do Not Want! indeed.

That does remind me though… "Harry, did you give any more thought to your classes for next year?"

Looking up when I don't get an answer, I see my brother staring at me while trying not to laugh. Ron seems to be doing the same, minus the bothering not to laugh part.

That they're not staring at me, but rather at something just past me, and the fact that Ginny's voice has been getting closer both register at about the same time as I feel someone sit down next to me and lean in towards me.

"Fiddlesticks." Ginny supplies, ever so helpfully notifying me that she _isn't_ the girl I feel leaning into me.

Turning to look, I find myself staring into Luna's eyes from no more than a few inches away. Her contemplative expression slowly turning to one of decision as she starts to nod emphatically to herself and begins pulling quills and parchment from her bag. Glancing around, it seems that Ginny is struggling to decide whether to abandon her friend to her own devices, or brave sitting near my brother, whom she's already taken to intermittently staring at while practicing her tomato impression.

"Can I… help you?" I try to address the question to both of them, but Luna seems to be the only one to hear me.

"Oh yes!" She sounds absolutely thrilled. "Daddy said he'd put the article on the front page if I got you to agree to give an interview on what the molting process was like."

"Can I buy a vowel? Or maybe a general indication of what topic we're on?" I glance at Ginny. It seems she finally decided to sit down, but now might be regretting it, having turned an even brighter red and looking like she's giving serious consideration to bashing her head against the table repeatedly. A quick cushioning charm goes on her part of the table just in case.

Luna however, is undeterred. "The molting process. When you shed your invisible exoskeleton and took on your current human form."

"Yeah... What?" She's sounding dangerously close to discussing topics best left unmentioned. All the more nerve wracking since this is the girl I can't get much more than a headache from with legilimency. Nothing useful anyway, I fail to see how the color blue is germane to the current situation.

"She's decided you're a Wrackspurt that turned itself human after molting." Ginny finally manages, smiling weakly.

"Oh…" I smile down at Luna. "You think I'm the living embodiment of a creature known for causing confusion among wizardkind?"

"Oh no, not just wizards; witches, muggles, and even especially clever animals get confused near them as well."

"Well… that… Huh. You know, that is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I'm afraid you're a little bit mistaken though, Miss Lovegood." I pause a moment for dramatic flair, wistfully sad expression plastered onto my face, and wait for her to frown at me. "You see, there was no molting process. No self respecting wrackspurt would ever voluntarily allow itself to become something that walks around all… _visible_ … all the time. No, I'm afraid I was transfigured into this form by an evil wizard who feared my young cousin here was in danger of having far too boring of a year here at Hogwarts…" I sigh theatrically. "I'm still kind of hoping it'll wear off someday and I'll be able to rejoin my flock, but I suppose I can admit that being a wizard isn't too bad a gig."

"A wizard turned you into…" Hermione trails off, sounding a bit stunned by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"No. No. It was an _evil_ wizard!" One of the twins corrects, leaning in conspiratorially to really sell it.

"Gosh, Hermione. Get it right. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." The other adds, nodding along and patting his brother on the back..

Eye twitching, she glares at them and then at Harry and Ron as well when they finally crack and start to giggle. "Why would anyone, evil or not, even do something like that?"

"He already told us, to make sure Harri-kins here had a more exciting year." Thing One reaches out and ruffles my brother's hair.

"A worthy goal if I ever heard one." Thing Two nods. "Not that evil wizards are known for worthy goals."

Sensing the conversation is in danger of derailing, I step in and valiantly try to save it. "Hey now, even evil blokes need hobbies. Just look at Professor Dumbledore and his love of setting up obstacle courses for wee little firsties. "

"Professor Dumbledore is _not_ evil!" Hermione insists loyally.

I blink at her as owlishly as I can manage. "Well no… He isn't evil right now, but that's only because of the truly heroic efforts of one Severus Snape. Slaving away over those awful cauldrons day after day to make enough lemon drops laced with a very specific blend of potions to keep Professor Dumbledore from going on a rampage. It's a pity about the potions requiring his own happiness as an active ingredient, but that just makes his sacrifices for the greater good even more impressive."

Also impressive is that Albus manages to smile serenely through my entire story, calmly buttering his toast and looking for all the world that there's nothing even the slightest bit odd going on. To his right, Minerva limits herself to a small smile of amusement. Filius tries to as well, he really does, but he can't quite manage to keep a straight face.

Snape doesn't even bother trying. "Ten points from Gryffindor for slander, Winters." At which point Flitwick finally cracks, falling out his seat as he starts laughing like some sort of crazed demon. For a professional duelist, the man topples off of things an awful lot. I'm beginning to think he might be hamming it up for the students. Not that I'm in any position to judge a man for that really.

"And _that_ ladies, gentlemen, and twins, is how you get the professors to admit they've been eavesdropping on our conversations."

Albus, expression finally shifting toward amused, clears his throat. "I don't believe we've ever actually claimed otherwise."

"...Fair point, Professor. Fair point." I nod my head to Albus lest Severus decide to think I mean him. "Speaking of points though, or more specifically ten of them, is it worth pointing out that I'm not actually a Gryffindor?"

"Detention, Mr. Winters."

I'd love to know how he manages to convey both anger and boredom in just one tone of voice.

I mean, Albus has 'disappointed' down to an art but Severus… He just- Arg. His little routine of glaring at everyone while swooping about like a vampire is just… too much, maybe? Sure, it seems to scare some of the firsties but he does such a better job of being menacing when he lets himself act naturally. Push him off base a little and he forgets to try so bloody hard.

Not that I'd admit anything of the sort out loud. And so, pointedly ignoring him, I scratch my chin as if in thought. "Come to think of it, I'm technically not even _officially_ a student yet either... unless either yourself or Professor McGonagall have changed your minds in that regard?"

Watching Minerva visibly struggle with her own amusement at the situation while trying to decide between following the letter of Hogwarts' rules and addressing my 'atrocious behavior' is unexpectedly satisfying. Sadly, it seems Albus lacks her capacity for moral quandary. "I think we can all agree that you belong here, Mr. Winters. Though I do apologize Severus, but I'm afraid Poppy has already staked a claim on his first detention."

"Err..?" I can't for the life of me fathom what I could have done to earn the school nurse's ire. So great is my confusion that I can't even be bothered by discovering I have to share it with Severus. "What?"

Albus just smiles at us, as infuriatingly serene as ever. "I believe she said she was looking for your assistance replacing her stocks of Skele-Grow potion. Apparently there has been a recent spate of leg injuries caused by students jumping off the stairs in an attempt to fly."


	16. Drank The Kool-Aid

**Part 15 - Drank The Kool-Aid**

 **-Hogwarts Express : The Next Morning - Train Ride 'Home'-**

The cold glass pressed against my forehead feels marvelous. Or maybe 'distinctly less terrible' would be more accurate? Either way, it helps dull my headache if only slightly.

"Tom?" I hear Hermione's voice cut through the fog as the door to my compartment slides open. "What are you doing on the train?"

I see no need to dignify such a statement with a response. Hermione's clever enough, she'll figure it out. Right now I'm just going to sit here and enjoy the feeling of the cool glass pressed against my forehead.

"Not that you can't be here." She adds nervously after an all too brief moment of blessed silence. "It's just that you weren't at breakfast and we thought you must have stayed home today... "

She trails off and for one more blissful moment, I have peace.

"Tom? Are you alright? What's happened?"

Clearly it wasn't meant to last. "I'm fine, Miss Granger. The Hufflepuffs happened, that's all. Do be quiet please."

"Oi!" Ron's voice bellows from somewhere outside the compartment. "What's the hold up? You're blocking the door."

As the pain in my head reaches new heights, I find myself forced to wonder… Surely the world could survive having one less Weasley in it? Would anyone even notice the difference?

"Tom's inside. I-"

"We can find a different compartment!" I don't think I've ever heard my brother speak so quickly. I should probably be concerned that he seems keen to avoid me, but that seems like a problem best dealt with when thinking about it hurts less.

"No. I think he's hurt."

Nothing for it. I sigh. "I'm not _hurt_. I'm _hungover_."

"You're _WHAT!?_ "

Good lord she's loud. "Hungover. It means I was drunk last night, and now I have a splitting headache serving as a reminder that firewhiskey is as it turns out a poison. Now, if you cannot keep your voice lowered then I shall have to ask you to _leave_ and allow me to wallow in peace."

"You shouldn't be drinking. You're only 16. What were you thinking?"

My ability to glare people into submission must be being hampered by my currently debilitated state.

"I-" frown. How to word this? I'm certainly not admitting that from what little I can recall, I apparently forwent all rational thought in favor of chasing a skirt. "It seems that one of the component parts Roy stitched me together from left me with the impression that I ought to be virtually immune to such things as 'lesser toxins.' I am, as it turns out, most decidedly _not_." In retrospect I'm not sure how I could have believed I would be. I'm a different person wearing a body of entirely brand new construction, of course I'd need to start my self improvement projects anew. It's a pity that I still haven't the foggiest how to replicate whatever my brother out in... Australia or wherever... did to himself. "I think I remember one of Cedric's friends calling me a lightweight?"

As if summoned by being mentioned, there's a quick knock and then the door slides open. Mary… something or other starting with a T..? She's a seventh year. Or she was. Now she's a graduate. I remember that much. Celebrating exams being over by getting near blackout drunk and sleeping together didn't exactly require exchanging life stories. In any case, she's poking her head in and smiling at us. "Hey, Winters." Of course she chooses now to not call me Tom or Thomas, when it's her surname I can't seem to recall.

That may actually be my own fault. I can vaguely recall rambling on about how 'Tom' is the barkeep at the inn I live in and… something. I may have told people to just call me Winters and be done with it.

Ah well.

Blessedly, whatever her last name was, Mary does at least seems to grasp the concept of inside voices, even if she is wearing what is obviously meant to be an infuriating smirk. "Rough night?"

… I never did manage to respond when she said hello, did I? Fortunately, I know the answer to this one. "Worth it."

"Good answer." Her smirk settles into a grin as she starts waggling her eyebrows, turning to my brother and his friends. "Remember kids, a girl likes to know her efforts are appreciated."

"Stop that." I glare at her, though I suspect yawning uncontrollably in the process may have diminished the effect. "I like to think I've still got another year or two before I have to worry about the midgets taking an interest in that sort of trouble, thank you very much."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. She singsongs, grinning at me and shifting to lean against the door frame.

I frown, glancing over at my brother.

Well.

Bugger.

He's doing a spectacular impression of Ginny Weasley, even if he lacks Ginny's capacity for turning a proper tomato red.

And since he's determinedly looking anywhere but at Mary, I manage to catch his eye at one point and note that he seems to be picturing her naked. Bizarrely accurately too. Almost matches exactly what little I remember from last night.

... _Oh_.

 **Bugger.**

Despite being slightly mistaken about why I'm doing it, Mary seems to find me suddenly groaning and rubbing my face hysterical. Her amusement pains me. Literally. It makes my headache worse.

"Ungh. You are being entirely too chipper right now. Especially considering you drank just as much or more than I did last night, and seemed just as hungover as I still feel when you kicked me out to go shower this morning."

"Of course I am." She grins. "It may not be quite the same as the old Tonks Specials, but those Weasley Twins do brew a damn fine hangover cure potion for a pair of 4th years." Mary winks at me. "I'm sure I'll see you around, Winters. Ta!" Sadistic witch that she is, she says it all entirely too loudly for my liking and then tops it off with even louder laughter as she saunters off, hips swaying.

" _Ron…_ " I try to smile at him, I really do.

I suspect I don't quite get it right because his response is an aggrieved sounding, "What?"

Hermione kicks him.

"Oi!" He rubs his shin. "...Yeah. Alright." Ron stands up and starts towards the door. "I'll go find them." Ron makes a decent enough minion with Hermione riding herd. I think I'll let him survive to adulthood after all. "Still say it serves you right after helping her mentalness make us _study_." Well... _maybe_.

"So…" I turn back to my brother as the compartment door slides shut one last time. "Harry, I suppose congratulations are in order?" My non sequitur earns me a pair of baffled stares. I roll my eyes at them. "I take it you had a rather... _vivid_... dream last night."

Hermione remains lost, but Harry gulps and starts eyeing the exit with no small amount of seriousness. The rapidly swirling bits of imagery I can see flashing through his mind confirms my theory nicely though.

"Right then. Miss Granger, I don't want to be rude, but I'm feeling entirely too wrung out to come up with a believable excuse to get you to leave. I'm just going to say that I'm about to give Harry the birds and the bees talk and let you do what you like with that information."

Hermione, whose expression had been trending towards thunderous with a strong dash of hurt, suddenly enters deer-in-headlights mode: Eyes widening and a nearly stuttered "...Oh." struggling past her lips. She rallies with impressive speed and smacks herself on the forehead. "I... was supposed to talk to Ginny. I should go do that."

"Huh." I share a surprised look with my brother as the compartment door slides shut a second time. "I wonder how much longer that will work for?"

Instead of answering, Harry just sort of fidgets in place awkwardly.

"Oh relax, would you? I'm fairly certain this sort of thing is what passes for normal in our family. Merlin knows I was made to watch enough of your Quidditch matches over the past however many months it's been since I stumbled out from behind whatever concealing wards Roy had me stashed behind." A convenient enough explanation for my lack of existence on the student registry. In the neighborhood of true even, if you tilt your head and squint too hard while thinking about the Chamber of Secrets. "If I find any grey hairs on my head, I'm blaming your ill-fated love affair with that rather obsessive bludger."

"That was Dobby!"

Raising an eyebrow, I feign mild confusion. "Lucy's elf?"

"What?"

"Dobby? That's the name of Lucy Malfoy's house elf."

My brother appears to have taken up sulking and disgruntled muttering.

"Right. Anyway… Tabling that discussion for now in favor of the topic you're trying so very desperately to distract me from: Yes. Congratulations. Welcome to the family. I think. Apparently the magical members of our family are able to… remotely observe what the others are up to while dreaming?" I shrug. "Or so it seems at least."

"Seems?"

"It doesn't happen all that often, so I'm still kind of guessing at how it works. The common parts seem to involve viewer being asleep while the viewee experiences a… strongly emotional event. Speaking of which, you can relax. As long as we can agree that this is the sort of thing best kept to ourselves until we understand it better, I'm _more_ than happy to leave off giving you _the talk_. Madam Pomfrey's going to do it in the fall along with the rest of the third years anyway and she has the charts, diagrams, and other stuff to do it properly."

For some reason, this doesn't seem to calm my brother down all that much.

 **\- Two and Three Quarter What in the Nine Hells Is Taking Ron So Bloody Longs Later-**

I stare at the potion for a moment. It is the precise color and consistency it ought to be as far as I can tell.

I look over at the twins anyway. "You two do realize that if this turns out to be something other than a hangover cure, I _will_ set you on fire. Right?"

They laugh, but don't seem to be concerned for their safety. Either the potion is as advertised or it's an impromptu opportunity to start building my reputation for making good on any threats I feel the need to levy.

Quaffing the potion, I sigh contentedly as an icy sensation rapidly spreads through my veins. It takes five seconds for it to fully run its course and turn me back into a human being rather than a glorified headache transport device.

Holding out the sickle they claimed the potion would cost me, I have a thought. I like this thought. It combines three of my favorite things: Preparedness, minion acquisition, and blatant cheating. "Have either of you ever considered doing this," I shake the empty potion phial, "professionally some day? Maybe opening a shop?"

"Well…" Thing One starts, glancing pointedly at his brother.

Some sort of silent conversation goes on for a moment before they turn back to me, grinning, and Thing Two continues, "It's funny you should mention that."

Seeing as I already know more than even they do, I don't really feel the need to let them explain about Weasley Wizard Wheezes. "Excellent!" I clap my hands together gleefully before pulling a handful of galleons out of my pocket. "Do you take commissions, and how much do you want to have a strengthening solution ready before we reach King's Cross? Oh!" Glancing pointedly at my brother, I let the smile slide off my face and stare The Twins in the eyes. "I'm also going to need a muggle-repelling door knob as soon as you can reasonably manage it."

 **\- King's Cross Station -**

Quaffing the Strengthening Solution The Twins just finished for me, I clamp down on my brother's shoulder before he can attempt to flee the compartment.

"Hold on, Harry. I'm coming with you." Hermione and Ron glare at me in confusion when they spot his grimace, but just I offer them a tight smile as I start transfiguring our school robes into their muggle counterparts, complete with their 'St. Brutus's School for the Gifted' logos. "I think it's time I had a _chat_ with cousin Petunia."


	17. Narcissism

**Part 16 - Narcissism**

 **\- Platform 9 3/4 -**

One of the back-issues of The Daily Prophet that I managed to acquire despite being stuck in the colonies had a front page article on the Malfoys. At the time I didn't think much of it, suspecting either bribery or an especially slow news day being responsible for such a glorified puff piece taking center stage. Not only did it wax poetic to the point of gushing about the size of the donation they'd just made to Saint Mungo's Hospital, but it did a mediocre job of it too. Spotting Narcissa standing on the platform, I can't help but feel like the accompanying photo of the Malfoy family standing in front of the hospital with Chief Mediwitch Whosiwhatsit was even more tragically lacking than the article. It just... _really_ failed to do the woman justice.

I interrupt what I believe is my brother's- thirteenth..? I may or may not have lost count somewhere around the second- attempt to dissuade me from meeting my 'Cousin Petunia' by mussing his hair. Not that you'd really be able to tell given its natural state of mess. Right on cue, Harry's indignant squawk catches her attention, making her look our way.

"But hey!" I make sure to raise my voice just enough, "Look on the bright side: You and your little buddy Draco will be able to bond next year with shared grumping about 'overbearing elders' and whatnot." I add in the air quotes with the hand that isn't keeping a firm grip on his shoulder.

Gently shoving my brother through the portal over to the muggle side of the station- or as gently as I can manage while amped up on strengthening solution- I pause just long enough to wave cheerfully at Narcissa and her now raised eyebrow before following Harry through.

Shaking my head in disappointment with myself, I choose to firmly believe in the idea that the smile inching across my face despite my best efforts is because no one notices my brother and me spontaneously appearing out of nowhere. Yes… that's definitely it.

My smile is clearly because it's nice to know that even while Wizarding Britain has been circling the drain of stagnation without me, the mild confundus charms layered over the station have been well maintained. My smile is definitely because of the local muggles managing to forgo noticing Hedwig's rather noisy existence as we cross the platform towards the car park; admittedly, that might possibly have as much to do with city dwellers' natural disinclination against acknowledging their fellows existence as it does any actual magics but I digress.

In any case, the important thing is that my smile is most definitely not in any way caused by The Lady Malfoy being drop dead gorgeous. Nor is it in any way related to the short tour of her cleavage that my eyes took before I even realized what they were doing.

...sigh. Merlin, Morgana, and Circe, this newfound distractibility is going to be the death of me. Although… the look on Lucy's face if-

No.

That's a terrible idea. Even if she's a very fit- No. Stop that.

Fortunately, I'm saved from considering Narcissa any further by spotting the Dursleys. Hmmm… or maybe that ought to be _unfortunately_? I think the fact that I'm able to identify them by simply looking for the largest irate walrus in a suit confirms everything I need to know about them rather nicely. Ramping my smile up to the biggest and brightest I can manage as I walk, I immediately begin making my way towards them with a shouted, "Petunia!"

There's a brief moment of confusion, that classic expression of '...do we know him?' written clearly on both the adult Dursley's faces, before they spot 'the boy' next to me and Vernon starts puffing up.

Double timing the last few meters between us, I reach out and grab the hand he was planning on using to point at us angrily just as he starts to lift it and I begin shaking it enthusiastically. Snape can bitch and moan about their sense of humor all he wants but the Weasley Twins can brew a damn fine product when they set their minds to it; whatever angry tirade Vernon had planned- I stopped caring about his thoughts the moment I found my opportune moment to interrupt them- cuts off with a pained grunt as I nearly wrench his arm out of its socket shaking his hand with my temporarily augmented strength. "And you must be Vernon!" Using his arm for leverage, I pull him into a bear hug, squeezing the air out of his lungs so he can't protest. Lifting him clear off the ground to reinforce my implied point, I ragdoll him back and forth just a bit for my own amusement. "It's _so good_ to finally meet the rest of _Cousin Lily's_ ** _family_**."

I put him down, giving him a light nudge that sends him back a pace before hugging Petunia. Her hug is as much lighter and briefer as I can manage since I can practically feel those same magics the kept me from visiting them in their home coursing through her veins. To avoid tempting any of the fates, I keep the idea that I need Petunia alive fixed firmly in mind to avoid triggering any wrath. Brilliant and vindictive witch that Lily was, I'm still left having to suppress the urge to immediately start shaking the tingling sensation out of my arms as I step back, barely holding off long enough to use mussing Harry's hair one more time as a cover. Alas, in my distraction the younger walrus appears to have sought refuge behind their car, so I can't complete the trifecta of uncomfortable hugs.

"Well. Much as I hate it, I'm sorry to say that I can't stay and chat. I've got this whole slew of paperwork to file with the Ministry of Education before they close for the day and they make banker's hours look downright reasonable." Not to mention that there's somehow more paperwork involved in becoming a certified tutor for summer lessons than there is to file for emancipation. Probably something to do with how much work it used to produce for the obliviators before they tightened the restrictions.

Taking a step back and turning to Harry, I clap him on the shoulder. I only remember to mind my strength at the last moment but Harry doesn't seem bothered, used to such things as he is.

"Harry." I force myself to continue staring directly at my brother lest I do something rash. "Remember, I'll be picking you up at quarter to 10 next Saturday morning for those study sessions we promised Miss Granger." I may not be able to prove anything, but her being able to even _find_ the paperwork to let us hold said lessons at her house, let alone fill it out correctly, absolutely reeks of the old goat.

"Now you see here!" Walrus senior begins reinflating. "I won't have any of _your kind_ in our neighborhood."

I turn back to face him as slowly as I can physically manage, ratcheting up my smile straight on through to manic as I go. "Mr. Dursley." I head my head tilt slightly to the side and _stare_ at the man. "Did you know that if you were struck by a bus this afternoon, the magics keeping cousin Lily's family safe wouldn't bat an eye? They are _technically_ only concerned with your wife's _blood_ relatives after all. If I were you, I would _strongly_ consider not doing anything to remind the universe of the incredibly _superfluous_ nature of your existence. Your neighbor- Mrs Levensy, down in number… 9... I believe it was? She tells me the universe has a way of revisiting injuries upon the aggressor three-fold or… something to that effect?" I shrug apologetically, dialing my smile down to polite. "I admit, the finer points of her argument were somewhat lost on me as I've always found myself preferring to take a more _personal_ hand in matters rather than leaving things to the universe at large." Another shrug. "In any case, I'm afraid the timing is something we're stuck with as I already promised her that we'd pop round for her little circle's morning tea to finish my tale about tracking down my remaining family and they always meet at _precisely_ 10 am on Saturdays. It's kind of _freakish_ to be honest..." I put on a thoughtful frown, "maybe I should double check to make sure they aren't some manner of robots?"

There's a moment of strangled silence from the Dursley's as their tiny brains slowly work out the implication that the boy will be having social interactions with their neighbors wherein he might ruin some of the various lies they've spread about him.

There's a tug at my arm and I find Harry making a very strange face at me, his mouth doing a decent impression of a fish as he trips over his words for a second, clearly trying to voice more than one thought all at once, before finally settling on what he wants to say. "I don't think I like tea."

"You... _don't like tea?_ But-"

I stare at him, my words failing me. What fresh blasphemy is this?

Wait.

I frown as I'm reminded of my most horrifying discovery while stateside.

 ** _I_** don't like tea anymore.

"That's- Um... that's alright, Harry. I don't think I like tea either. Maybe there's a spell to make it taste like butterbeer or something? I'll check Flourish and Blotts."

Blasted Muggle. He just _had_ to be a colonial.


End file.
